UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


SOUTHERN  BRANCH 


LOS  ANGELES,  CALIF, 


LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 


SUSAN  HALE  AND  EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE 
From  a  daguerreotype  taken  about  1855 


LETTERS 
OF  SUSAN  HALE 


Edited  by 
CAROLINE    P.  ATKINSON 

Introduction  by 
EDWARD    E.  HALE 


BOSTON 

MARSHALL  JONES   COMPANY 
MDCCCCXIX 


COPYRIGHT,     1918, 
BY     MARSHALL    JONES    COMPANY 


rights  reserved 


First  Printing,  December,  1918 
Second  Printing,  April,  1919 


Printed  In  ttie  United  States  of  America 
by  The  University  Press,  Cambridge,  Ma. 


-PS 

1-7-74 
H  15  A I 


PREFACE 


THOSE  of  us,  of  a  younger  generation,  who  were 
^  privileged  to  know  Susan  Hale  intimately,  have 

,.1  felt  eager  to  have  her  letters  published,  in  order  that 
J*  a  larger  number  of  persons  might  share  with  us  the 
v)  delight  of  her  wit  and  vivacity,  and  her  never-ceasing 

good  spirits. 

*.  She  was  the  best  of  company,  and  we  who  sat  on 
*~  her  piazza,  at  Matunuck,  listening  to  her  brilliant 
W  conversation  on  men,  books  and  travel,  or  to  her 
j  inimitable  stories;  and  others  who  had  the  good  for- 
N  tune  to  travel  with  her,  all  bear  witness  to  never 

having  spent  a  dull  hour  in  her  company. 
)/t         It  was  a  liberal  education  to  be  with  her,  for  she 
V     always  inspired  the  young  people  about  her  to  care 
t     for  the  best  things. 

She  read  a  great  deal,  and  in  addition  to  a  fine 
K     library  of  old  books,  she  kept  up  with  the  best  new 
*?     ones,   and  her  tables  were  always  liberally  strewn 
gP    with  current  literature  in  English,  French,  Italian 
'     and  German  —  all  of  which  she  read  in  the  original, 
being  a  fine  linguist,  and  discussed  in  a  most  dis- 
cerning and  appreciative  way. 

She  loved  the  great  outdoors,  and  used  to  put  on 
a  short  skirt,  arrange  her  hair  in  a  "pig-tail,"  don 
a  tam-o'-shanter,  and  lead  the  young  people  off  over 
hills,  through  woods,  and  along  the  shores  of  the 
ponds,  stopping  to  pick  wild  flowers  by  the  way,  and 
often  bringing  a  specimen  home  to  dissect  and  analyze 
with  the  help  of  "  Gray's  Botany."  On  brilliant 
star-light  nights  she  taught  us  about  the  planets  and 


yi  PKEFACE 

constellations.  One  could  not  be  with  her  and  not 
catch  her  enthusiasm  or  cultivate  a  taste  in  things 
worth  while. 

She  was  physically  very  strong,  and  the  striking 
thing  in  her  later  years,  when  she  had  to  meet  illness, 
a  surgical  operation  and  deafness,  which  increased 
rapidly,  was  her  great  courage,  her  capacity  to  hold 
her  head  high  and  take  whatever  came  to  her  with 
cheerful  resignation;  her  sense  of  humour  and  her 
pluck  carrying  her  through  very  trying  times.  Even 
in  the  few  months  between  the  paralytic  stroke, 
which  came  to  her  in  May,  and  her  death  in  Sep- 
tember, 1910,  was  this  particularly  noticeable. 

She  was  a  prolific  letter-writer,  and  her  letters 
were  so  entertaining  that  they  were  seldom  destroyed. 
So,  out  of  an  abundance  of  material,  I  have  selected 
these  that  make  this  volume,  with  many  regrets  at 
having  to  leave  out  a  large  number  that  would  have 
been  of  interest.  It  has  been  a  delightful  task,  and 
if  the  result  gives  to  the  reader  a  small  part  of  the 
enjoyment  I  have  had  in  preparing  the  book,  I  shall 
be  well  satisfied. 

CABOLINE  P.  ATKINSON. 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND, 
September,  1918. 


r 


INTRODUCTION 

ONE  can  rarely  give  in  a  few  words  any  true 
impression  of  a  long  life.  Susan  Hale  was  al- 
most seventy-seven  when  she  died,  and  most  of  those 
now  living  remember  her  as  she  was  in  the  latter 
half  of  her  life,  —  the  mistress  of  Matunuck  in  the 
summer,  the  unwearied  traveller  in  the  winter.  But 
before  she  had  settled  into  the  life  most  characteris- 
tic of  her  later  years,  she  was  a  very  different  as  well 
as  a  very  individual  and  brilliant  personality.  As 
a  girl  in  the  family  circle  at  Brookline,  and  later  as 
a  woman  in  the  Boston  society  of  the  seventies,  she 
was  a  very  distinct  character.  The  following  lines 
can  give  only  a  little  concerning  her  life  in  those  and 
later  years  which  will  enable  people  to  read  with 
some  comprehension  the  letters  now  published. 

Yet  certain  things  were  permanent  with  her.  As 
she  grew  older,  her  most  striking  characteristic  was 
probably  a  very  great  sympathy,  which  enabled  her  to 
make  many  intimate  friends.  Particularly  was  this 
the  case  with  young  people,  who  used  to  feel  about 
her  much  as  though  she  were  one  of  themselves,  called 
her  Susan,  and  talked  to  her  on  their  own  current 
interests  without  often  realising  that  she  really  be- 
longed to  an  earlier  generation.  In  that  generation, 
however,  her  chief  quality  had  been  something  quite 
different,  chiefly  a  certain  gift  of  brilliant  cleverness 
in  thought  and  expression  which  made  her  a  note- 
worthy person  among  her  contemporaries. 

If  one  called  her  a  "woman  of  the  world"  —  in 
the  broadest  and  best  sense  —  one  might  include  both 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

these  phases.  Susan  certainly  did  know  the  world 
pretty  well,  both  the  particular  world  of  America, 
Boston,  Matunuck,  where  she  was  intimate,  and  the 
larger  world  about  which  she  so  constantly  travelled. 
And  a  person  remembering  her  in  some  such  way 
would  doubtless  have  the  general  impression  which 
Susan  Hale  made  on  her  generation,  as  far  as  it 
knew  her. 

But  even  with  all  correction,  —  clever  girl,  bril- 
liant woman,  sympathetic  friend,  appreciative  trav- 
eller, such  a  view  would  be  only  superficial.  In  all 
Susan's  cleverness  and  brilliancy  there  was  a  con- 
stant emotional  self-restraint  not  unusual  in  the  sev- 
enties and  eighties;  in  her  invariable  sympathy  and 
interest  in  others  there  was  a  frequent  reserve.  The 
real  Susan  did  not  often  emerge  from  the  veil.  When 
she  did  one  remembered  it,  but  rarely  comprehended 
it  entirely.  Her  conversation  was  apparently  quite 
genuine  and  sincere,  and  so  it  was  actually,  with  the 
reservation  that  though  what  she  said  she  really  felt 
and  thought,  yet  she  never  said  all  she  felt  and 
thought.  In  this  respect  her  letters  have  rather 
more  of  her  real  self  than  even  her  personal  talk  had, 
at  least  to  a  reader  who  can  get  at  it.  This  is  one  of 
the  secrets  of  writing  —  that  it  is  often  more  truly, 
even  if  unconsciously,  self-expressive  than  conver- 
sation. 

There  was  also  a  certain  quaintness,  not  unper- 
ceived,  in  the  more  personal  part  of  Susan's  charac- 
ter. She  was  very  fond  of  cats,  as  many  others  are, 
but  it  was  more  individual  that  she  should  invent  and 
develop  an  especial  "  cat  language "  with  which  to 
talk  to  them.  She  often  went  about  singing  to  her- 
self, as  many  people  do,  but  it  was  her  own  specialty 
to  invent  "  morning-songs  "  and  sing  them  to  herself 
at  breakfast.  She  also  invented  names  for  people 
and  places,  but  it  is  not  common  for  such  names  to 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

be  picked  up  and  used  by  everybody  without  thought. 
These  things  and  many  others  were  individual  and 
quaint  and  belonged  to  her.  It  is  hard  to  say  just 
what  was  the  real  Susan,  but  I  think  the  most  real 
was  Susan  by  herself  at  Matunuck  in  the  fall  after 
the  summer  life  and  gaiety  had  vanished  away,  and 
the  summer  splendours  had  passed  into  the  soft-toned 
and  moderated  autumn,  and  the  country-side  had  a 
certain  "tristesse,"  as  she  liked  to  call  it.  Then  she 
would  swim  in  the  pond  in  the  early  morning,  break- 
fast on  the  piazza,  write  her  letters  till  mail  time, 
stroll  about  the  hill  with  the  current  cat,  Geronimo,  or 
some  other,  talk  with  Louisa  or  Mr.  Franklin  or  Mr. 
Browning,  sit  in  the  south  window  or  on  the  piazza 
and  darn  stockings  over  a  sort  of  small  gourd,  or  else 
read  the  Sun,  make  a  fire  in  the  evening  and  read 
a  novel  out  of  which  she  had  torn  the  illustrations, 
and  go  to  bed  at  about  eight,  humming  the  most  suc- 
cessful morning-song  of  the  week.  Nor  was  all  this 
a  matter  merely  of  the  moment  or  of  the  outside.  It 
involved  a  criticism  of  life,  —  a  constant  valuation 
of  what  the  world  was  and  a  constant  expression  of 
what  one  was  oneself.  That,  too,  I  fancy,  comes  out 
in  her  letters.  One  may  not  always  get  it  —  and 
perhaps  an  editor  should  point  it  out  more  clearly  — 
but  probably  most  readers  will  get  at  it  more  or  less, 
and  that  is  all  one  could  expect  at  the  very  best. 

Susan  Hale  was  born  December  5,  1833,  at  6 
Hamilton  Place,  Boston,  the  youngest  of  the  eight 
children  of  Nathan  Hale  and  Sarah  Preston  Everett. 
Of  these  the  four  oldest,  Sarah,  Lucretia,  Nathan 
and  Edward,  constituted  rather  a  compact  group 
("we  four")  as  the  oldest  children  now  almost 
grown  up.  .They  with  their  friends  made  an  interest- 
ing and  brilliant  group  that  Susan  was  somewhat  too 
young  to  join.  She  belonged  to  the  younger  four; 
but  her  sister  Jane  died  early  and  Sarah  some  years 


x  INTRODUCTION 

afterward,  so  that  as  she  grew  up  Susan  was  natu- 
rally thrown  largely  with  her  older  sister,  Lucretia. 
Not  much  can  be  said  here  of  those  earlier  years ;  she 
soon  began  to  learn  to  draw  and  to  paint,  and  as  the 
material  fortunes  of  the  family  somewhat  failed  on 
the  illness  of  her  father,  she  soon  began  to  teach 
school.  The  family  lived  in  Boston ;  her  father  and 
her  brothers  Nathan  and  Charles  successively  were 
editors  of  the  Boston  Daily  Advertiser.  Her  brother, 
Edward,  after  1856  was  minister  of  the  South  Con- 
gregational Church.  About  1860  the  family  moved 
to  Brookline,  where  in  1862  her  father  died,  and  in 
1865  her  mother. 

Susan  was  at  this  time  thirty-two  years  of  age,  and 
had  long  been  the  youngest  member  of  a  large  and 
able  family.  She  was  able  herself,  but  so  far  she 
had  never  had  a  really  independent  opportunity  to 
see  what  she  could  do  if  she  had  to,  or  what  she  would 
do  if  she  could.  Nor  did  such  an  opportunity  at 
once  arise.  In  1867  the  general  family  group  being 
practically  broken  up,  she  and  Lucretia  went  abroad, 
specifically  to  Egypt,  where  Charles  was  Consul  Gen- 
eral of  the  United  States. 

On  her  return  from  abroad  it  would  seem  that 
Susan  made  up  her  mind  that  she  had  better  carry  on 
her  life  herself  instead  of  letting  it  be  arranged  for 
her  by  brothers  and  sisters  and  family  circumstances. 
She  therefore  took  rooms  at  91  Boylston  Street  and 
began,  or  rather  continued,  to  have  classes.  This  she 
did  for  several  years,  but  as  she  went  on  she  became 
more  and  more  interested  in  painting.  She  had  al- 
ways had  ability  in  this  art,  as  had  also  others  of  the 
family,  but  she  had  never  had  particular  teaching. 
She  now  resolved  to  get  the  best  teaching  in  water- 
colours  that  she  could,  and  for  this  purpose  went  abroad 
again  in  1872.  I  cannot  say  just  who  were  her  mas- 
ters ;  the  only  two  whom  I  recall  her  mentioning  were 


INTKODUCTION  xi 

Copley  Fielding  and  Henri  Harpignies,  but  I  do  not 
think  she  studied  much  with  either  of  them.  She 
spent  the  winter  of  1872-1873  in  Paris  and  at 
Weimar. 

In  1873  she  came  back  to  Boston  and  began  a  very 
characteristic  and  interesting  period  of  her  life.  She 
again  took  rooms,  I  am  not  sure  where  at  first,  but 
soon  at  64  Boylston  Street,  where  the  Art  Club  had 
at  that  time  established  itself.  Here  she  began 
classes  in  water-colours,  which  gave  her  a  regular 
occupation,  but  she  also  developed  other  things'  to  do, 
sometimes  of  an  original  character.  She  did,  in 
time,  a  good  many  books  and  wrote  a  good  many  let- 
ters of  travel  for  the  papers.  She  began  to  have 
afternoon  classes  of  ladies  not  only  in  Boston  but  else- 
where, to  whom  she  talked  or  read.  The  one  that  in- 
terested her  most  was  on  the  novelists  of  the  eight- 
eenth century.  I  cannot  say  when  she  began  to  read 
to  Mr.  William  Amory,  but  when  I  first  began  to  fre- 
quent her  rooms  in  the  late  seventies,  it  was  her  habit 
to  go  across  the  Common  every  afternoon  to  read  to 
him  for  a  couple  of  hours.  She  also  used  to  go  in  the 
evening  to  read  to  Mr.  T.  G.  Appleton,  and  these 
regular  engagements  together  with  her  morning 
classes  made  for  a  number  of  years  the  backbone  of 
her  winter  occupation.  I  do  not  know  just  what  she 
used  to  read  to  them,  but  I  feel  pretty  sure  that  Mr. 
Appleton  at  least  liked  her  to  talk  rather  than  to 
read.  She  used  often  to  go  over  to  Mr.  Appleton's 
for  dinner,  and  as  one  was  a  wit  and  the  other  a 
humourist,  it  is  not  likely  that  they  spent  all  their 
time  in  reading,  even  so  interesting  a  book  as  Gib- 
bon's "Decline  and  Fall." 

I  do  not  remember  when  Susan  first  came  to 
Matunuck.  During  the  first  ten  years  of  our  family 
life  there,  there  was  much  visiting  on  the  part  of 
Uncle  Charles  and  Aunt  Lucretia  and,  I  have  no 


xii  LNTKODUCTION 

doubt,  of  Susan  as  well.  She  was  never  at  Matu- 
nuck, however,  in  those  earlier  years,  for  any  long 
period.  She  was  much  more  likely  to  go  for  six  or 
eight  weeks  to  such  a  place  as  York,  Owl's  Head, 
Ogunquit,  or  somewhere  else  along  the  North  Shore. 
Matunuck  she  never  considered  an  interesting  place 
for  painting.  My  sister  was,  about  this  time,  study- 
ing with  Miss  Knowlton,  the  teaching  representa- 
tive, as  one  may  say,  of  William  M.  Hunt.  She  and 
her  friends  liked  Matunuck  because  of  its  figure- 
elements,  the  ox-teams  of  that  day  gathering  sea- 
weed, the  boys  in  broad-brimmed  straw  hats  and 
blue  flannel  shirts,  which  lent  themselves  to  the  gen- 
eral Millet-Couture  sentiment  which  they  felt.  But 
Susan  was  not  interested  in  this  sort  of  thing  and  did 
not  often  paint  at  Matunuck.  She  liked  the  Maine 
coast  better  and  wanted  generally  to  spend  a  good 
deal  of  time  wherever  she  was  going  to  paint.  She 
used  to  say  that  there  was  no  use  trying  to  paint  till 
you  had  been  in  a  place  for  a  fortnight  or  so,  getting 
to  know  it.  So  her  first  days  in  a  place  she  used  to 
spend  walking  about  and  after  that  she  would  paint 
pretty  regularly.  In  the  fall  she  would  bring  back 
a  number  of  water-colours,  and  have  an  exhibition 
at  the  Art  Club,  and  then  begin  teaching  for  the 
winter. 

In  1883,  however,  she  came  to  Matunuck  in  a  new 
capacity,  namely,  that  of  housekeeper.  My  father 
and  mother  had  that  year  been  called  to  Paris  by  the 
illness  of  my  sister  and  remained  abroad  all  summer. 
Susan  came  out  to  39  Highland  Street  to  take  care  of 
the  family  —  at  this  time  consisting  of  the  four 
younger  boys.  With  them  she  went  to  Matunuck  to 
open  the  house  and  ran  the  establishment  until  my 
father  and  mother  came  home.  It  was,  perhaps, 
first  this  summer  that  she  -really  became  charmed 
with  the  place.  At  any  rate,  two  years  after- 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

ward  an  arrangement  was  made  by  which  she  as- 
sumed charge  of  the  house  at  Matunuck  for  the 
summer.  It  had  been  built  in  1873  for  my  father 
by  William  B.  Weeden,  whose  place  at  Willow  Dell 
was  just  across  the  road.  In  the  first  ten  years  my 
father  and  mother  and  the  rest  of  us  came  down 
regularly  and  spent  the  whole  summer  there.  But 
the  housekeeping  of  those  days  was  rather  difficult,  so 
that  my  mother  always  got  pretty  well  tired  out,  and 
really  disliked  leaving  her  large,  comfortable,  and 
generally  cool  house  in  Roxbury,  to  go  to  Matunuck, 
which  was  beautiful,  but  not  so  attractive  for  those 
who  did  not  care  for  bathing  and  boating  and  wood- 
walking,  as  for  those  who  did.  However  it  was,  by 
the  summer  of  1885  it  was  practically  settled  that 
Susan  was  to  be  the  mistress  at  Matunuck,  and  she 
rather  rearranged  her  life  on  this  basis.  Instead  of 
spending  the  winter  at  work  in  Boston  and  the  sum- 
mer travelling  about,  she  began  to  spend  the  summer 
at  Matunuck  while  she  travelled  in  the  winter.  She 
got  in  the  habit  of  coming  down  earlier  in  the  spring 
and  staying  longer  in  the  fall.  When  she  got  into  the 
habit  of  travelling  in  the  winter,  she  began  to  give 
up  the  idea  of  having  a  home  in  Boston.  She  had 
for  a  long  time  lived  in  the  Art  Club  building. 
When  the  Club  rearranged  the  house,  she  moved  to 
other  apartments  in  Boylston  Street.  But  after  she 
had  been  at  Matunuck  a  few  summers,  she  regularly 
moved  her  things  down  there,  and  after  that  she  only 
stayed  in  Boston  for  a  longer  or  shorter  time  between 
Matunuck  and  some  winter  trip,  or  in  the  spring 
before  going  to  Matunuck  for  the  summer. 

Travelling  was  one  of  the  things  she  liked  best. 
She  was  very  fond  of  her  particular  home  at  any 
given  time,  but  she  also  liked  to  travel.  Her  first 
real  journey  was  to  Egypt;  a  few  years  afterward 
she  spent  a  year  or  so  abroad.  In  1885  and  1886  she 


xiv  INTRODUCTION 

went  to  Mexico  with  E.  E.  Church  and  his  family, 
who  were  among  her  best  friends.  The  next  year 
she  went  to  Spain  with  Mr.  John  Johnston  and  his 
sister;  in  1891  she  made  a  European  trip  with  Miss 
Susan  Day;  in  1892  and  again  in  1893  she  went  to 
California;  in  1894  to  Europe  with  Mrs.  Church; 
in  1896  to  Algiers  by  herself,  though  later  she  joined 
Mrs.  William  Weld  in  Sicily.  In  1899  she  went  to 
California  with  Mrs.  Weld,  and  again,  in  1901,  with 
her  to  Mexico.  In  1902  she  went  to  Europe  with 
Miss  Ethel  Damon.  In  1903,  1904,  1905  she  spent 
the  winter  in  Jamaica.  In  1905  she  was  in  Egypt; 
in  1906  in  Jamaica  again ;  in  1907  in  Cannes.  The 
winters  of  1908  and  1909  she  spent  in  Washington 
and  Pass  Christian,  and  the  last  winter  of  her  life, 
1910,  in  Cannes.  But  every  summer  she  was  at 
Matunuck. 

Susan  at  Matunuck  is  to  those  who  knew  her  there 
her  most  characteristic  phase.  She  loved  the  place 
and  its  people,  and  was  never  so  much  at  home  as 
when  there.  At  first  she  plunged  actively  into  the 
outdoor  life ;  she  was  a  capital  swimmer  and  always 
wanted  a  swim  in  the  pond  before  breakfast,  and 
generally  a  sea-bath,  too,  while  she  also  loved  to 
traverse  the  wood-paths,  which  in  those  days  led  in 
all  directions  among  the  ponds.  She  liked  to  take 
a  canoe  with  one  of  the  boys,  and  to  carry  across 
from  pond  to  pond  until  they  had  made  a  circuit 
of  the  hill-country.  As  she  grew  older  she  cared  less 
for  this  active  outdoor  life,  but  devised  another  more 
suited  to  the  energies  of  a  woman  of  fifty  or  sixty. 
She  would  breakfast  on  the  piazza,  when  she  was 
alone ;  it  was  not  too  far  from  the  road  to  hear  some- 
one driving  by  explain  to  a  friend,  "  No,  she  ain't 
crazy,  but  she  eats  outdoors."  After  breakfast  she 
went  about  the  house  or  retired  to  her  "rat's-nest" 
and  wrote  letters  till  the  mail-man  came.  Then  it 


INTRODUCTION  xv 

was  time  to  drive  to  the  beach,  which  generally  took 
up  the  rest  of  the  morning.  In  the  afternoon  she 
took  to  the  east  piazza,  about  four  o'clock,  where  in 
time  the  neighbourhood  accustomed  itself  to  come  for 
afternoon  tea.  She  often  went  off  for  a  stroll  in  the 
late  afternoon,  and  after  supper  finished  the  day  by 
a  short  time  on  the  front  piazza,  where,  on  clear 
nights,  one  had  a  wonderful  stretch  of  sea  and  light- 
house and  horizon.  She  went  to  bed  very  early  in  the 
summer,  —  at  eight  or  half-past.  If  there  were 
people  about  she  would  go  away  as  though  to  attend 
to  something  and  not  come  back. 

She  early  formed  intimate  relations  with  the  people 
around,  particularly  with  those  who  "  did  for  "  her, 
as  the  phrase  is.  Mrs.  Perry  was  the  first  of  these,  but 
when  she  moved  away  up  the  Perryville  road  she  could 
not  continue  "  doing."  Susan  then  took  up  with  Louisa 
Sebastian,  a  big  coloured  woman  with  something  of 
a  following,  and  for  many  years  Louisa  was  her  cook, 
and  as  far  as  she  had  any,  her  manager.  Mr.  Frank- 
lin and  George  Jones,  both  coloured,  used  to  be 
around  a  good  deal  cutting  wood  and  doing  odd  jobs. 
She  got  horses  of  Robert  Browning,  to  whom  she 
was  much  attracted  by  his  singular  strain  of  almost 
saturnine  humour.  She  encouraged  all  the  country 
to  come  round  in  carts  and  bring  her  food;  she  al- 
ways got  something  and  always  had  conversations 
with  them.  The  chief  of  these  visitors  were  Mrs. 
Tucker  and  Peth  Bradley. 

My  father  always  came  to  Matunuck  as  much  as 
he  could  in  the  summer,  though  toward  the  end  of 
his  life  he  used  sometimes  to  go  elsewhere.  My 
mother,  however,  did  not  come  so  much.  Susan, 
therefore,  had  a  good  deal  of  room,  for  the  house  was 
large,  and  she  got  into  the  habit  of  having  a  good 
many  visitors,  generally  young  people, — her  own 
friends  and  her  nephews'.  In  this  way  grew  up  at 


xvi  INTRODUCTION 

Matunuck  in  the  late  eighties  and  the  nineties  a 
group  of  young  people  with  all  of  whom.  Susan  was 
intimate.  She  was  commonly  called  Susan  by  them, 
and,  indeed,  by  almost  everyone  else. 

Although  extremely  original  and  natural  in  what 
she  said  and  did,  Susan,  like  most  other  people,  was 
not  able  to  express  herself  fully  in  the  current  forms 
to  which  we  are  all  used.  She  painted  a  good  deal, 
and  for  a  number  of  years  was  immensely  interested 
in  her  landscapes,  yet  no  one  who  knew  her  could 
fancy  that  her  landscapes  gave  much  real  idea  of  her 
gay  vitality  and  her  shrewd  quaintness.  She  wrote 
a  good  deal  in  various  ways,  —  sometimes  travel- 
letters  to  the  papers,  sometimes  books,  —  but  though 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  herself  in  these,  they  never 
impressed  people  as  she  did  herself.  Possibly  she 
could  have  arrived  at  a  truer  self-expression  by  being 
an  actress  than  in  any  other  way.  She  was  always 
wonderful  in  extempore  theatricals  or  in  the  mono- 
logues which  she  arranged  for  herself  like  "  The 
Elixir  of  Youth  "  or  "  The  Female  Fool."  But  even 
had  it  proved  that  she  could  best  express  her  mer- 
curial personality  on  the  stage,  it  is  doubtful  whether 
she  could  have  done  so  by  the  usual  and  natural 
course  of  presenting  or  creating  the  characters  con- 
ceived by  others.  She  would  have  been  a  great  figure 
in  the  popular  extempore  stage  of  the  Italians. 

In  the  way  of  letters,  however,  she  did  find  a  means 
of  expression.  She  was  educated  at  a  time  when 
long  letters  were  more  common  than  they  are  to-day. 
All  the  family  wrote  letters,  and  according  to  the 
custom  of  the  time  they  were  pretty  long  ones.  In 
the  days  before  envelopes  and  stamps  it  was  the  cus- 
tom to  use  double  sheets  of  quarto  size,  and  if  one 
used  such  a  sheet  and  paid  five  or  ten  cents  for  post- 
age, it  was  natural  to  write  enough  to  fill  the  sheet. 
So  she  early  got  used  to  writing  letters  and  soon 


INTRODUCTION  xvii 

adopted  letter-writing  as  an  easy  and  natural  mode 
of  expression.  Her  letters  were  very  like  her  con- 
versation; they  were  free  and  familiar,  full  of  her 
usual  ways  of  thought  and  expression,  giving  her 
characteristic  ideas  and  point  of  view.  They  had  not 
so  much  of  her  surprising  extempore  humour  as  her 
talk,  but  they  came  nearer  being  a  full  self-expression 
than  anything  else. 

EDWABD  E.  HALE. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    Early  life  in  Boston  and  Brookline  (1848- 

1867) 1 

II.  Trip  to  Egypt  and  the  Holy  Land  with 
Miss  Lucretia  P.  Hale  to  visit  their 
brother,  Charles  Hale,  Consul  General 
in  Egypt  (1867-1868) 22 

III.  Teaching  school  in  Boston  (1871-1872)    .      61 

IV.  Studying    art    in    Europe  —  Accompanied 

by  the  Misses  Bursley  and  Miss  Harriet 
James,  afterwards  Mrs.  John  C.  Ban- 
croft (1872-1873) 82 

V.  A  summer  in  Europe  with  Eev.  Edward 
E.  Hale,  his  daughter,  Miss  Ellen  Day 
Hale,  and  Miss  Mary  Marquand,  1882  — 
Visit  to  Frederick  E.  Church,  the 
painter,  at  his  home  on  the  Hudson 
Eiver,  in  1884  — Trip  to  Mexico  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Church  in  1885  — Sum- 
mer at  Matunuck,  1885  —  Mexico  again 
in  1886,  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Church, 
their  daughter,  and  Charles  Dudley  War- 
ner   .128 

VI.  Summer  at  Matunuck,  1886  —  Winter  in 
Paris  with  her  nephew,  Philip  L.  Hale 
—  Spring  in  Spain,  1887  —  Matunuck, 
1887  —  Matunuck  again,  1888  ....  167 

VII.  Headings  in  Chicago,  Washington,  and  New 
York  —  Trip  on  yacht  "Gitana"  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  William  F.  Weld  — Sum- 
mer at  Matunuck  —  Another  winter  of 
lectures  and  readings,  1890  (1888-1890)  200 


xx  CONTENTS 

CHAPTEK  PAGE 

VIII.  Summer  at  Matunuck,  1890  —  "  The  Elixir 
of  Youth"  at  Olana  — Trip  to  Europe 
with  Miss  Susan  Day,  1891  — Winter  in 
California  giving  readings,  1892  —  Mat- 
unuck,  1892  —  Out  West  again  ....  242 

IX.    Matunuck,  New  York,  the  West,  Europe 

(1893-1897) 281 

X.    Boston,    New   York,    California,   Madeira, 

Matunuck  (1898-1902) 327 

XI.    Jamaica,  Matunuck,  Egypt  (1902-1905)    .    372 
XII.    Last  years  (1906-1910) 408 

INDEX  .  .    473 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Susan  Hale  and  Edward  Everett  Hale     Frontispiece 

opp.  page 
Susan  Hale,  about  1865 232 

Susan  Hale  at  Matunuck,  1908 44-0 


LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 


LETTERS  OF  SUSAN 
HALE 

CHAPTEK   I 

EARLY  LIFE  IN  BOSTON  AND  BROOKLINE 

(1848-1867) 
To  ALEXANDER  HALE 

[BOSTON],  November  1,  1848. 

DEAR  ELLY,  —  You  will  be  perhaps  surprised  to 
hear  that  I  began  this  afternoon  to  take  drawing  les- 
sons in  a  second-story  front  room  in  at  Bachi's!  of 
Mr.  Fette  (or  Phetti)  !  It  is  quite  a  remarkable 
tale  and  runs  as  follows: 

Once  upon  a  time,  some  three  weeks  ago,  I  was 
sitting  at  the  window  of  the  parlour,  when  happening 
to  look  up,  I  descried  in  the  aforesaid  second-story 
front  room  of  Bachi's,  Anne  and  Ellen  Frothingham, 
and  Mary  Ann  Wales,  diligently  engaged  with  cray- 
ons, drawing-books,  etc.  Imagine  my  surprise !  We 
opened  our  respective  windows  and  by  means  of 
shrieking  across,  I  discovered  that  they  were  taking 
drawing-lessons  of  Mr.  Fette,  with  a  Mrs.  Ball,  in 
whose  room  (Mrs.  Ball's)  the  lessons  were  given. 
Also  especially,  they  asked  would  not  /  join  them, 
they  wanted  another.  So  after  a  great  deal  of  nego- 
tiation the  affair  was  decided,  and  I  began  this 
afternoon  to  go.  The  lessons  were  Wednesday  and 
Saturday  afternoons  from  three-fifteen  to  four-fif- 


2  LETTEKS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

teen.  I  began  to  draw  a  head,  the  same  one,  if  you 
remember,  that  Liddy  Everett  drew,  under  the  in- 
struction of  Mr.  F.  I  sketched  it  in  charcoal,  a  thing 
which  I  never  did  before.  Mr.  Fette  remarked,  "  I 
hope,  Miss  Hale,  that  you  will  like  drawing  in  char- 
coal better  than  your  brother  Alexander  did!  "  This 
was  the  first  mention  of  you  between  us.  I  suppose 
he  discovered  the  relationship  by  the  name  —  per- 
haps by  the  resemblance^ 

Last  Monday  evening  the  grand  Taylor  torch- 
light procession  took  place.  We  had  an  invitation 
to  Mrs.  Frothingham's,  next  to  Uncle  Edward's  *  old 
house  in  Summer  Street.  It  was  a  nice  place  to  see 
as  there  is  a  large  balcony  in  front  of  the  house  and 
the  procession  passed  directly  by  it.  Charlotte  with 
Marianne  and  Lucy  Everett  (who  is  staying  at  Cam- 
bridge) came  in  and  T'd  with  us,  and  we  set  forth 
together,  some  in  a  carriage  and  some  on  foot,  to  the 
Frothingham's.  The  carriages  arrived  first,  and 
when  the  walking  party  (of  which  I  was  a  member) 
got  to  the  door,  the  door-bell  was  broken.  Fullum  2 
went  round  to  the  back  door  to  effect  an  entrance,  but 
while  he  was  gone,  Tom  Frothingham,  returning 
from  his  evening  airing,  with  a  pass-key  let  us  in. 
After  waiting  some  time  in  the  parlours,  where  were 
Pa  F.,  Ma  F.,  Edward,  Tom  F.,  Anne  and  Ellen  F., 
Charlotte,  Marianne,  Lucy  and  Eddy  Everett,  Mari- 
anne Wales,  a  Miss  Emmons,  Harriet  Davis,  Sarah, 
Lucretia,  and  I,  the  procession  was  heard  and  we 
rushed  to  the  piazza.  It  was  a  splendid  procession, 
to  which  the  Free-Soil  Torch-light  of  last  Wednesday 
was  a  miserable  small  "sizzle."  Ours  took  half  an 
hour  to  pass,  with  torches  four,  sometimes  six, 
abreast,  whereas  the  Free-Soil  took  ten  minutes,  "  at 

1  Edward  Everett. 

*  An  old  servant  who  lived  for  many  years  with  the  Hale 
family. 


LIFE  IN  BOSTON  AND  BROOKLINE     3 

the  longest,  count  slowly  (while  ours  ran)"  torches 
two,  sometimes  none,  abreast.  Ours  had  a  great  many 
of  those  Bengal  lights,  which  the  processioners  hold 
in  their  hands  and  which  send  forth  brilliant  stars, 
one  by  one  ascending  to  a  great  height.  A  house  a 
few  doors  below  the  F.'s  sent  off  rockets  constantly, 
and  a  house  opposite  was  brilliantly  illuminated.  We 
descried  Little  Alexander,  very  energetic  as  a  mar- 
shal, in  the  Cambridge  department,  which  was  large 
and  brilliant.  There  were  innumerable  transparen- 
cies with  devices  like  this,  which  was 
called,  "  The  old  fox  with  a  new  tail " 
and  was  named  Martin  Van  Buren, 
and  majestic  looking  men  with  very 
long  noses,  called  Zachary  Taylor.  The  Taylor  Light 
Guards  had  little  U.  S.  A.  flags,  stars  and  stripes  at- 
tached to  their  torch-sticks,  and  occasionally  sang 
together  Whig  songs. 

(I  here  stop  to  turn  the  cat,  who  is  roasting  be- 
fore the  fire,  and  who  though  she  has  not  quite  sense 
enough  to  move  when  she  gets  too  hot,  is  yet  able  to 
"  mullagatorny  "  for  me  to  come  and  turn  her. ) 

Mr.  Winthrop's  house  as  well  as  many  others  was 
brilliantly  illuminated  the  torch-light  night.  Among 
others,  Mrs.  Judge  Story,  of  all  other  people,  illumi- 
nated from  the  garret  to  cellar !  She  is  very  enthu- 
siastic about  the  election,  and  furious  against  Charles 
Sumner  for  being  Free-Soil.  But  not  another  word 
of  politics  in  this  letter!  Good-bye  from 

Your  affectionate  third  sister, 

SUSIE. 

To  ALEXANDER  HALE 

September  2,  1849. 

DEAR  ELL.Y,  —  It  is  decided  that  I  go  to  school  this 
winter,  and  the  fatal  note  has  been  written  to  Mr. 


4  LETTEKS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

Emerson,  to  see  if  he  will  take  me.  After  my  long 
absence  from  the  seminary,  I  am  not  violently  eager 
to  return,  but  the  cries  of  neglected  education  are 
loud,  so  go  I  must.  In  the  course  of  a  month  or  two, 
I  shall  be  competent  to  open  a  correspondence  with 
you  on  the  history  of  the  ancient  Gauls  or  some  such 
ancient  fogies,  in  any  language  you  please,  either 
ancient  or  modern  Greek,  Latin,  Italian,  German, 
Spanish,  Hebrew  or  French.  .  .  .  Good-bye  from 
your  sister 

SUE. 

To  ALEXANDER  HALE 

Sunday  evening,  October  14,  1849. 
DEAR  ELLY,  —  I  am  now  fairly  launched  on  the  sea 
of  education,  or  school.  I  go  daily  from  nine  till  two. 
You  may  be  interested  in  knowing  my  course  of 
study.  In  the  first  place,  I  write  an  abstract  every 
Sunday  of  the  sermon  of  Sunday  morning.  This  is 
for  Monday  morning's  lesson.  At  school  I  learn  a 
lesson  from  "  Viri  Romae  "  and  recite  in  Colburn's 
"Mental  Arithmetic."  I  don't  study  the  lessons  in 
this  latter  branch,  but  we  are  supposed  to  know  it  by 
intuition,  and  every  day  are  plied  with  it  by  Mr. 
Emerson.  We  get  up  and  down  in  this  class.  I  vary, 
being  sometimes  within  three  of  the  head,  occasion- 
ally, though  rarely,  equally  near  the  foot,  of  the  class. 
We  learn  an  evening  lesson  in  zoology  for  every  day 
but  Monday  and  Saturday.  The  book  is  Agassiz  and 
Gould's  "  Zoology "  and  treats  of  diverse  subjects  re- 
ferring to  the  animal  kingdom  —  such  as  the  verte- 
brate animals,  mollusks,  mammals,  etc.,  and  if  you 
were  here  I  could  logically  expound  to  you  that  man, 
as  well  as  many  other  vertebrate  animals,  is  possessed 
of  a  carpus  and  a  metacarpus,  also  a  tarsus  and  a 


LIFE  IN  BOSTON  AND  BROOKLIKE  5 

metatarsus.     This  Highly  instructive  and  interesting 
work  is  replete  with  pictures  of  this  nature  (a)  also 
ones    like    this    (b). 
I  study  "  Viri  Ro- 
mae"  every  day  but 
Friday  and  Saturday. 
(a)  Friday     is     French 

day,  and  then  I  study  a  French  translation  book 
called  Bonnechose's  "History  of  France,"  and  next 
week  I  am  to  begin  in  Ollendorf's  Exercises.  Satur- 
day we  learn  poetry,  and  as  soon  as  we  have  recited 
that,  we  are  at  liberty  to  go  home,  so  that  yesterday 
I  got  home  before  eleven.  Other  days  I  do  not  get 
home  till  after  two  sometimes.  Professor  Gould 
comes  several  times  a  week  to  give  us  lectures,  and 
explain  what  we  have  gone  over  in  zoology,  and  brings 
with  him  in  a  bundle  monkeys'  skulls,  and  Polypi, 
a  marine  animal.  .  .  . 

There  are  about  seventy  scholars  in  the  school,  and 
three  assistant  teachers.  Gam.  Bradford's  sister, 
Fanny  Bradford,  is  one  of  the  teachers.  Each  as- 
sistant has  a  little  room  of  her  own,  and  when  I  re- 
cite to  an  assistant  I  am  closeted  with  her  in  one  of 
said  little  rooms.  .  .  . 

Your  affectionate  sister, 

SUSIE. 

To  Miss  LTTCRETIA  P.  HALE 

[BOSTON],  Sunday  evening,  October  26,  1851. 

Oh !  faithless  Lucretia !  that  don't  come  home  when 
we  wish  yer.  (Observe  the  rhyme,  please.)  We 
haven't  so  far  disowned  you  as  to  refuse  to  write. 
Indeed,  considering  the  many  palliating  circum- 
stances, we  have  concluded  to  receive  you  with  open 
arms  on  Tuesday.  .  .  . 

Yesterday  was  off-Saturday,  which  was  celebrated 


6  LETTEKS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

by  great  festivities  consisting  of  the  manufacture  of 
mother's  bonnet — a  regular  bonnet-on-ation,  which 
is  the  nearest  allowable  to  a  coronation  in  this  Ee- 
publican  country.  How  can  I  tell  how  the  frame 
was  got  —  a  love  of  the  first  water,  and  the  silk 
ironed  out,  and  all  the  materials  prepared  by  mother 
the  day  previous,  —  or  how  constantly  the  scissors 
got  lost,  and  the  pins  out  of  the  way,  and  the  silk 
knotted,  or  the  frame  wobbled  round  on  my  knee  ? 
All  of  which  are  preliminaries  —  for  at  about  two, 
after  a  splendid  morning  interrupted  by  no  incur- 
sions of  Jewetts,  Willies,  Hannah  Dexters,  or  ac- 
counts, THE  BONNET  completed,  burst  on  the  ad- 
miring crowd,  consisting  of  Mama,  rivalling  in  its 
glories  of  frill,  crape,  crown,  etc.,  the  whole  combined 
attraction  of  "White's  Grand  Fall  Opening  of  more 
than  10,000  Paris  Hats"  as  advertised  in  the  lead- 
ing journals.  Mother  appeared  in  it  this  morning 
at  church,  at  which  the  congregation,  led  by  Deacon 
Grant,  rose  and  gave  three  cheers,  after  which  the 
new  sexton  opened  all  the  windows,  and  ex-sexton 
Beals  immediately  closed  them  again.  We  then  pro- 
ceeded with  the  usual  services.  .  .  . 

Two  tickets  to  Miss  Hayes's  farewell  concert  to- 
night lie  in  the  dish  mixed  with  a  crowd  of  Herr 
Kist's,  and  such  like,  —  but  no  Peabody  boy  has  been 
summoned,  no  Frank,  no  Oily,  no  Willie,  —  nor  have 
I  put  on  my  long  sleeves.  While  Sunday  night  was 
still  far  off,  I  used  to  think  I  should  go,  but  when 
it  came  to  the  point  in  hand,  I  somehow  did  n't.  .  .  . 
Your  affex.  sister, 

SUSIE. 
To  NATHAN  HALE 

Tuesday  evening,  November  %1,  1854.. 
DEAR  NATHAN,  —  I  am  so  busy  all  the  time  now 
that  I  don't  often  write  to  you;  but  moved  by  your 


LIFE  IN   BOSTON  AND  BROOKLINE     7 

pathetic  allusions  in  your  nice  letter  of  to-day  to 
Mama,  I  am  going  to  snatch  a  few  leisure  moments 
this  evening  to  pick  up  a  bead  or  two  from  the  shat- 
tered string  of  our  correspondence.  Is  not  this  a 
felicitous  "  hyperbole  "  for  the  beginning  ?  Tell  Ed- 
ward that  —  No !  on  the  whole  you  need  n't  tell  him. 
Perhaps  it  would  be  more  satisfactory  to  you  to  know 
how  I  am  busy,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  happens 
through  the  day.  Get  up  in  the  morning,  which  as 
you  know  as  well  as  I,  is  easier  said  than  done  — 
Oh!  how  bitter  it  is  to  hear  the  dreadful  running 
noise  of  "  Chit "  in  the  bath-tub,  the  first  sound  that 
wakens  me  in  the  morning,  and  to  know  that  if  I 
don't  pitch  out  and  take  my  bath  forthwith,  Lucretia 
won't  have  time  to  take  hers  before  the  breakfast  bell ! 
We  generally  get  at  breakfast  at  eight  o'clock,  and  by 
a  well-organised  hard-scrabble,  Luc.  and  I  get  the 
breakfast  things  washed  by  nine  o'clock.  All  the 
time  we  are  doing  this  the  door-bell  keeps  ringing  and 
we  hear  little  boys  tumbling  upstairs  to  the  "  School- 
room," alas!  inglorious  term,  by  which  the  Upper- 
Study  is  now  known.  When  it  is  nine  I  rush  up  to 
the  scene  of  action,  and  generally  find  the  pupils  all 
by  the  ears;  Inman  Barnard  weeping  because  his 
sister  has  left  him,  and  he  wants  to  go  home ;  some 
new  article  of  furniture  broken,  and  the  sofa-cover- 
ing torn  in  a  new  place.  Order  being  restored  we 
proceed  to  ceremonies :  there  are  eleven  little  victims 
now,  when  they  all  come;  and  next  week  I  am  to 
have  another.  The  children  stay  until  twelve,  and 
during  that  time  "  act  as  bad  as  they  can,"  but  on 
the  whole  acquire  considerable  learning,  and  don't 
worrit  me  much.  They  being  fairly  off,  Ellen 
Wheeler  and  Mary  Chamberlin  enter  with  their  Hor- 
ace lessons,  French  Grammar  and  translations,  only 
one  lesson  apiece  every  day.  I  am  quite  done  with 
them  at  one  o'clock.  Then  I  break  loose;  and  cast- 


8  LETTEES   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

ing  off  the  garb  and  manner  of  schoolma'am,  assume 
the  character  of  a  young  lady  in  the  upper  circles,  by 
putting  on  my  flounced  gown  and  curling  my  hair. 
This  leaves  a  little  time  before  dinner,  which  is  de- 
voted to  making  gowns,  such  a  love  of  a  blue  silk 
basque  as  I  have  just  turned  out!  You  should  see 
it !  and  if  the  Fates  allowed  a  Thanksgiving  this  year, 
you  would  see  it.  After  dinner  the  gown-making  con- 
tinues till  four,  when  it  is  necessary  to  go  out;  for 
the  afternoons  are  so  short  that  you  can't  do  your 
shopping  and  visiting  and  walking  for  exercise,  un- 
less you  rush  out  before  dinner  is  fairly  out  of  your 
head.  Get  home  from  walking  about  six  and  till 
tea-time  at  seven,  there  are  miscellaneous  exercises 
such  as  cramming  a  little  Horace  to  be  in  advance  of 
the  girls,  practising  duets  with  Mary  Chamberlin, 
or,  rare  treat,  a  dip  into  a  novel !  So  sure  as  I  am 
seated  to  this  last,  however,  the  tea-bell  rings.  You 
know  how  the  evenings  are  principally  occupied  in 
oratories,  concerts  and  tea  sprees.  Anna  Loring  has 
invited  Luc.  and  myself  and  "  the  girls  "  to  tea  next 
Thursday.  Don't  you  think  it  requires  heroism  to  in- 
vite four  females  at  a  rush  from  one  house  to  tea? 
"  The  girls  "  prove  very  pleasant.  I  don't  think  they 
can  be  described  as  above  or  below  the  standard  of 
young-lady  excellence.  This  is  not  to  be  considered 
as  a  derogatory  remark,  but  to  be  taken  in  its  simple 
meaning.  It  is  usual  to  describe  them  as  "remark- 
ably nice  girls."  This  implies  that  girls  as  a  general 
thing  are  not  "  nice."  Now  according  to  me,  all  girls 
being  good  enough  for  common  purposes,  so  also  are 
these.  Mary  Chamberlin  sings  an  excellent  second, 
and  we  enjoy  a  good  many  singing  duets.  When 
Mary  Hall  spent  Sunday  here  a  week  ago,  we  three 
sang  catches  and  rounds-  to  great  effect,  to  the  per- 
formers, that  is ;  I  'm  afraid  it  was  not  so  delightful 
to  the  listeners,  but  then  they  had  the  alternative  of 


LIFE  IN  BOSTON  AND  BROOKLINE  9 

not  listening.  We  have  got  a  new  novel,  as  you  have 
seen  by  the  Daily  Advertiser,  by  the  author  of  "  Hen- 
pecked Husband."  It  is  very  good  indeed.  The  end 
is  rather  hurried  up ;  each  character  turns  out  to  have 
been  changed  in  his  or  her  cradle ;  and  all  those  who 
rolled  in  wealth  in  the  first  chapter  come  to  nought 
in  the  last,  while  on  the  other  hand  those  who  begged 
their  bread  on  page  first  had  large  chests  of  lucre  left 
them  on  the  last  page.  Barring  the  peculiarities  of 
these  incidents,  the  style  is  natural  and  pleasant,  and 
the  characters  very  well  drawn.  We  had  a  call  to-day 
fimn  Mrs.  Otis,  the  talented  author  of  "The  Bar- 
clays of  Boston."  How  she  did  gabble !  She  asked 
to  see  me  of  mother,  having  heard,  as  she  said,  that 
Miss  Susan  was  "  clever,"  so  I  was  got  down ;  but  my 
capacities  were  not  brought  to  the  test,  because  Mrs. 
Otis  herself  talked  all  the  time,  so  there  was  no  room 
for  me  to  get  in  a  word  edgewise;  even  supposing  I 
had  anything  to  say.  .  .  . 

I  am  very  much  afraid  that  the  cream  of  my  letter, 
churned  into  butter  and  spread  thin  over  this  great 
sheet  of  paper,  will  be  very  dry  fare !  Give  lots  of 
love  to  Edward  and  Emily,  and  keep  lots  from  your 
affectionate  sister. 

SUSIE. 

To  Miss  CHARLOTTE  WILSON  AT  KEENE 

November  15,  1855. 

J'ai  pense,  ma  chere  (de  notre  sexe  la  plus  belle), 
Plusieurs  f ois  depuis  le  depart  de  Rachel x 
Que  c'est  devenu  notre  devoir  de  moi  et  de  vous 
De  soutenir  notre  Frangais  (et  nos  esprits  de  plus), 
Par  un  effort  brillant  a  un  correspondance 
Dans  1'esprit  de  Racine,  et  le  langage  de  France : 
(Prononcez  s'il  vous  plait,  toutes  ces  lignes,  et  la  suite 
1  Rachel,  the  French  actress,  had  lately  visited  Boston. 


10          LETTEES   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

Avec  1'accent  charmant  de  notre  cher  Hippoljte.) 
Je  commence,  moi-meme,  en  vous  priant,  ma  chere 
De  penser  plus  a  mes  sentiments,  et  moins  au  Gram- 

maire. 

Figurez  votre  amie  comme  une  fidele  (Enone 
Qui  a  vous  comme  sa  Phedre  sa  creur  abandonne 
Mais  qui,  a  la  fin,  ne  se  trouve  pas,  j'espere, 
Compellee  se  lancer  au  sein  de  la  mer !  — 
Dix  jours  ont  passe  que  je  n'ai  pas  regu 
Une  lettre  d' Annie;  rien  aussi  de  vous. 
Chaque  matin  me  trouve  accablee  de  douleurs. 
Chaque  soir  ne  fait  que  de  renouveler  mes  pleura. 
Mais,  j'avoue,  il  faut  que  j'elance  mes  courroux 
Sur  la  tete  de  votre  soeur,  et  non  pas  sur  vous. 
Et  pourquoi  me  plaindre  ?    Je  sais  vos  occupations 
Tout  entierement  a  present  1'ouvrage  de  preparations 
Vous  travaillez  sans  cesse,  vous  n'etes  jamais  tran- 

quille 

En  arrangeant  vos  habits,  pour  aller  a  la  ville 
"Que  ces  vains  ornements,  que  ces  voiles  vous  pesent" 
IST'est-ce-pas  ?    J'y  pense,  et  mes  coursoux  s'appaisent. 
Quant  a  moi,  je  retrouve  enfin  ma  sante. 
Mes  jours  s'ecoulent  avec  peu  de  variete: — 
Nos  jeunes  filles  vont  bien;  Marie  Dinsmoor  et  moi, 
Nous  jouons  a  "  coronella  "  avec  beaucoup  de  Joie. 
Elle  est  vraiment  charmante ;  bien  aimable  et  gaie. 
Elle  donnera  un  autre  charme  aux  plaisirs  de  1'hiver. 
Le  soir,  Lucrece,  avec  les  filles  et  moi-meme 
Jouons  souvent  le  "  whist "  votre  favourite  game, 
(Excusez,  ma  chere,  cette  expression  anglaise 
A  ce  moment,  je  ne  puis  pas  en  trouver  la  franchise) 
Et  quoique  nous  n'avons  le  societe  comme  vous 
Du  Carleton,  le  beau,  nous  nous  amusons  beaucoup ! 
Ah !  comment  pouvez-vous  sans  peine  arracher 
Ces  liens  si  doux,  ces  amities  si  vrais, 
Comme  ceux  de  Carleton  et  Wheelock  ?    Charlotte ! 
Vous  trouverez  a  la  ville  des  flammes  plus  devotes 


LIFE   IN  BOSTON  AND  BROOKXINE   11 

Plus  galants,  mieux  gantes  ;  mais  pensez,  ma  chere, 
Jamais,  non  jamais,  seront-ils  plus  sinceres! 

Eh  bien  !  il  fait  tard  ;  —  et  aussi,  ma  fille, 
Ce  composition  frangais  est  bien  difficile 
Je  1'avoue,  et  helas  !  je  trouve  mes  idees 
Ne  s'ecoulent  en  frangais  avec  rapidite. 
Que  je  cesse  done  !    Enfin  je  vous  dis  Adieu! 
Helas  !  que  de  temps  f  aut  passer  que  ces  yeux 
Ne  vous  verront  de  plus,  car  1'inexorable  Annie 
Est  resolue  de  ne  pas  aller  a  N.  Y.  par  ici  — 
Ecrivez  de  Keene  je  vous  prie  encore  une  fois 
En  frangais,  en  anglais,  mais  toujours  a  moi! 
Lucrece  vous  envoye  de  baisers  une  douzaine  ! 
Et  moi,  dix  cent  milles  ! 

VOTRE  AMIE 


To  EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE 

APPLEDOEE,  Sunday  evening,  July  4>  1858. 

DEAR  EDWARD,  —  Your  letter  .  .  .  arrived  hap- 
pily and  safely  yesterday.  .  .  . 

Your  remarks  with  regard  to  happiness  as  a  means 
rather  than  an  end  are  most  valuable,  and,  as  it  hap- 
pened, most  refreshing  :  for  Margaret  and  I  are  most 
industrious  in  our  ruralizing.  If  you  could  but  see 
our  fat  Gray's  "Manual,"  our  two  little  "First 
Lessons,"  our  microscope  and  our  dissecting  knife  on 
the  table,  with  the  wrecks  of  analysed  flowers  and 
sections  of  stalks,  you  would  suppose,  as  the  chamber- 
maid does,  that  we  came  here  for  the  sole  purpose  of 
investigating  the  flora  of  the  island.  You  would 
think  it  was  not  the  best  place  to  select  for  this  par- 
ticular branch  of  science,  but  we  find  our  hands  full 
with  the  different  varieties.  After  every  walk  we 
come  in  with  several  new  specimens  to  be  botanised, 
and  we  are  really  getting  quite  skilful.  To-day  we 


12  LETTEKS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

hunted  down  a  mullein,  and  put  him  into  the  Scrophu- 
laria  Verbascum  Thapsus-es  with  great  ease.  Also 
certain  things  that  we  didn't  know  before  we  have 
traced  by  the  analysis  of  their  parts.  Then  Margie 
is  devoted  to  painting,  you  know.  We  go  out  with 
her  sketching  things  and  books,  and  pitch  our  tents 
on  a  rock  where  she  sketches  and  lays  in  her  colour 
with  admirable  effect  and  great  skill.  The  many- 
tinted  and  shadowed  rocks  are  very  difficult  studies 
for  colour  as  well  as  shading,  but  capital  practice. 
I  have  drawn  a  good  deal.  It  is  very  simple  sketch- 
ing because  there  are  no  trees;  and  the  cliffs  on  our 
island  make  faultless  backgrounds  for  vistas  of  dis- 
tant mountains,  lighthouse,  or  breakers. 

It  is  the  most  delightful  place  and  satisfies  one's 
ideal  of  an  island.  Here  there  can  be  no  stealthy  ap- 
proach of  Philistines,  everybody  must  come  on  the 
high-seas,  be  spied  far  off,  discussed  and  settled  be- 
fore he  arrives  in  the  little  bay  and  is  rowed  to  shore, 
just  before  the  house.  One  or  two  small  parties  of 
gentlemen  are  here  to-day,  but  very  quiet  and  peace- 
ful. I  have  never  passed  such  a  tranquil  Fourth. 
Indeed  I  think  this  serene  Sunday  has  been  the  quiet- 
est day  of  my  life;  the  loudest  noise,  the  roar  of  the 
breakers  on  the  N.  E.  shore,  and  my  only  conversa- 
tion, Margie's  and  my  amicable  chat.  Is  n't  it  nice  ? 

Always  yours, 

SUSIE. 

To  MBS.  NATHAN  HALE 

EYE,  Thursday,  August  28,  1862. 

DEAE  MAMA,  —  In  the  first  place,  the  money  came 
all  safe, — 

In  the  second,  the  photograph  of  Nan  did,  with 
your  nice  letter.  It 's  always  splendid  to  get  letters 
from  your  own  self,  though  I  'm  always  afraid  about 


LIFE   IN  BOSTON  AND   BKOOKLINE   13 

your  poor  eye,  lest  it  should  get  too  much  tired.  It 
seemed  to  act  rather  like  a  beast  and  I'm  glad  I'm 
coming  home  to  see  after  it  myself.  .  .  . 

I  am  enchanted  with  the  life  here  and  could  stay 
happily  another  fortnight  —  but  I  want  to  see  you 
dreadfully,  and  to  get  settled  at  home  quietly  before 
school  begins.  One  thing  I  shall  rejoice  at,  —  my 
own  bed,  —  for  this  husk  thing  we  sleep  on  is  a  beast ; 
—  and  only  the  exhaustion  produced  by  our  active 
lives  could  make  it  tolerable.  But  I  can  sleep  on 
anything,  I  believe.  Another  thing  grows  more 
loathsome  day  by  day,  and  that 's  the  confusion  of  a 
promiscuous  table — nobody  punctual — nobody  ready 
to  help,  —  and  everybody  talking  such  fool  nonsense 
as  sometimes  almost  to  prevent  digestion.  But  these 
are  only  trifles,  only  to  be  mentioned  in  connection 
with  i,he  thought  of  clean  table-cloths,  and  regular 
meals, — and  Peg's  serene  (?)  administration  thereof. 

I  laughed  at  reading  your  wishes  for  my  quiet,  for 
I  was  at  that  moment  in  the  thick  of  some  more 
theatricals !  The  indefatigable  Bartlett  had  been 
getting  up  some  at  the  Hotel  (whatever  is  got  up  at 
the  Hall  must  be  rivalled  by  the  Hotel,  you  see)  — 
and  at  very  short  notice  I  agreed  to  play  the  "  Morn- 
ing Call"  with  him.  I  .studied  the  part  Monday, 
the  plays  were  last  night.  It  is  a  short  piece  of  only 
me  and  Bartlett.  Lucretia  and  the  rest  know  it  I 
guess,  and  I  Ve  always  wanted  to  play  it ;  and  it  was 
a  great  success  they  said  —  your  younger  daughter 
is  represented  to  have  looked  very  handsome.  I  was 
in  a  great  puzzle  about  my  dress,  —  which  should  be 
a  gorgeous  morning  wrapper, — when  lo!  Miss  Adam 
(in  the  Bath)  offered  me  a  rich  robe  which  Mrs. 
Theodore  Lyman  gave  her  for  theatrical  purposes. 
It  fits  me  to  a  T.  Sheer  white  muslin,  most  elabo- 
rately trimmed  with  brilliant  rose  and  Chine  ribbon, 
round  the  bottom  of  the  skirt,  and  an  upper  skirt 


14          LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

open  in  front.  Little  cap  to  match,  —  the  whole  thing 
very  becoming.  Mr.  Coleman  and  a  dozen  people 
from  the  cottages  came  when  they  found  I  was  to 
act.  It  was  very  good  fun  —  better  than  usual  I 
think  —  being  so  lady-like  —  I  only  long  to  do  it 
with  Follen  Cabot,  — because  he  'd  be  so  much  better 
than  Mr.  Bartlett  —  although  he  was  good.  .  .  . 
Love  to  all,  from  yrs., 

SUSIE. 

To  Miss  LUCEETIA  P.  HALE 

WAUMBEK,  July  19  (That's  Sunday},  1863. 

DEAE  CEEESH, —  Muchly  refreshed  was  I  by  your 
letter  this  morning,  —  especially  at  last  to  hear 
something  about  the  Brookline  draft.  The  papers 
are  rigorously  silent  thereupon.  Dan  Dwight !  Curi- 
ous that  family  should  be  so  heavily  drawn  upon.  .  .  . 

But  let  us  leave  these  scenes,  as  I  did  yestermorn, 
and,  my  sister,  fly  with  me  down  the  road  to  Stillins's, 
through  the  woods  and  out  on  the  New  Gorham  Road, 
take  your  right  turn,  about  two  miles,  till  you  come 
on  to  the  Cherry  Mountain  Road,  and  so  home  across 
the  meadows  and  up  the  hill.  About  nine  miles  in 
all,  and  took  all  the  morning,  stopping  to  sketch  and 
eat  raspberries.  For  if  you  should  wish  a  short  de- 
scription of  the  wood-road  by  Stillins's,  I  could  give 
it  to  you  in  one  word  —  viz. :  Raspberries.  They  are 
just  this  minute  ripe;  the  strawberries  being  just 
this  minute  gone,  but  the  Rasps  are  even  more  tempt- 
ing, being  less  breakback  to  cull,  and  such  a  flavour ! 
The  sun  kept  coming  out,  and  it  kept  raining;  the 
more  it  shone,  the  more  it  rained,  —  but  by  the  time 
I  came  home  it  was  hot  and  sultry,  and  sunny,  and 
dried  up  my  drabbled  skirts  for  the  second  or  third 
time  on  the  excursion.  Such  a  wood-road,  narrow 
cart-path,  grassy,  and  hung  with  raspberry  bushes. 


LIFE   IN  BOSTON  AND  BROOKLIKE   15 

Israel's  Biver  rushing  and  tumbling  alongside,  brawl- 
ing over  the  stones,  —  the  ground  carpeted  with  Lin- 
naea — (just  done  blossoming),  —  little  Oxalis,  Py- 
rola,  and  all  matter  of  moss  and  greenness,  everything 
dripping  with  recent  showers,  and  so  sweet-smelling. 
Then  when  you  get  out  on  the  meadows,  great  yellow 
lilies  nod  their  heads,  quantities  of  Orchis,  Rue,  and 
Lysimachia,  —  a  lovely  broad  meadow,  with  the  river 
through  it  and  its  pretty  bridge,  belted  with  woods, 
and  crowned  by  Cherry  Mountain. 

In  the  afternoon,  my  legs  aching  a  little,  I  snoozed 
and  dressed  lazily,  arranged  my  flowers  in  a  big 
glass  pitcher  which  dear  Ma  Plaisted  provided  me 
and  Margy  with,  and  carried  'em  into  the  parlour, 
where  they  were,  as  usual,  much  admired  by  "our 
little  circle."  After  tea  it  was  so  beautiful  on  the 
piazza,  everybody  congregated  there  for  a  long  time; 
we  wound  up  with  Psalmody  in  the  parlour.  You 
will  be  surprised  to  learn  that  Mrs.  Thompson  and 
I  are  the  Choir.  She  has  a  very  sweet  voice,  and 
plays  readily.  We  have  no  books,  but  between  us 
have  thought  of  all  the'  old  things  you  ever  conceived 
of;  and  draw  tears  (  ?)  from  the  eyes  of  the  audience 
with  "Oft  in  the  stilly,"  "Ave  Sanctissima,"  etc. 
Mr.  Frothingham  (middle-aged  gent,  here  with  wife, 
I  don't  know  what  sort)  joined  last  night,  and  we 
had  some  very  good  Brattle  Street,  etc.  —  everybody 
being  thunder-struck  at  last  to  find  it  was  nearly 
eleven  o'clock !  .  .  .  Love  to  all, 

Yrs., 

SUSE. 

To  CHARLES  HALE 

BROOKLINE,  November  10,  1865. 
DEAE  CHARLEY,  —  I  've  been  engaged  this  week  in 
a  pecunious  Jieik;  to  wit,  getting  money  from  the 
ladies  of  the  Parish  to  get  a  new  gown  for  Dr.  Hedge. 


16  LETTERS    OF   SUSAN   HALE 

His  was  stolen  out  of  the  vestry  last  spring,  and  the 
dear  little  Doctor  has  ever  since  been  gownless.  We 
were  roused  to  the  occasion  by  the  spur  of  Dr.  Put- 
nam's gown  being  stolen  from  Roxbury  only  a  fort- 
night ago,  when  immediately  his  ladies  flew  around 
and  have  already  got  him  a  gown.  So  Lizzie  Guild 
and  I  have  been  agitating  the  matter.  She  finds  that 
"  they  come  very  expensive."  The  silk  is  seven  dol- 
lars a  yard,  and  the  marm  that  makes  it  asks  a  great 
deal,  so  it  will  amount  to  one  hundred  and  seventy- 
five  dollars.  I  agreed  to  raise  twenty-five  or  fifty 
dollars,  and  have  been  two  trips  round  the  big  guns 
of  the  parish.  I  found  them  all  amenable  to  kind 
treatment,  and  we  shall  have  no  trouble;  though 
many  ladies  say  "  they  prefer  Dr.  Hedge  without  a 
gown."  Now  that  is  neither  here  nor  there,  for  it 
isn't  creditable  to  have  no  gown  on  the  premises 
whether  he  wears  it  or  not. 

Yours, 
SUSE. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

Friday  evening,  April  6,  1866. 

DEAR  LTJCRETIA,  —  Not  to  make  this  too  heavy, 
I  '11  take  this  brief  sheet  of  paper  to  say  that  nothing 
at  all  has  happened  since  you  left,  except  this  nice 
little  scrap  from  Meggie,  through  Mrs.  Dwight,  and 
a  great  fat  budget  from  Charles,  with  this  satisfac- 
tory note  for  you,  which  being  unsealed  Mama  and 
I  have  read. 

Yesterday  was  lovely  and  hot  to  its  close,  but 
people  to-day  are  cursing  dreadfully  about  it.  I  had 
a  splendid  walk,  six  miles,  nearly  roasted. 

Saw       ...    1  mud-turtle 
"         ...    1  purple  lizard  with  yellow  spots 
"         ...    2,000  squirrels 


LIFE   IN  BOSTON  AND  BROOKLINE    17 

Saw      ...  1,100,000  birds 

"         ...  1  dead  snake 

Heard   .    .    .  millions  of  birds 

...  1  phoebe 

"        ...  1  bird  very  rare,  name  unknown 

"        ...  20,000,000  frogs 

...  0  hylas 
(I  forgot  to  mention  among 

Saws     ...  1  hepatica  bud,  very  small) 

Smelt  ...  1  doz.  sk — k  cabbages 

"       ...  No  end  of  good  things 

Dr.  Hedge  was  excellent  this  P.M.  The  audience 
spasmodic  in  efforts  at  cheerful  ease.  ...  A  warm, 
very  warm  rain,  all  day,  no  fire  in  the  furnace, — 
saves  37V2  c.  .  .  . 

Yours, 

SlJSE. 

To  CHARLES  HALE 

BROOKLINE,  Sunday,  January  W,  1867. 

DEAR  CHARLEY,  —  This  did  not  go  by  the  Despatch 
Bag,  and  waits  the  Mail,  if  there  is  any !  on  account 
of  the  Great  Storm  of  1867,  which  has  just  got  itself 
over,  and  the  effects  of  which  are  still  conspicuous 
in  front  of  the  house  in  great  drifts  as  tall  as  Nathan, 
literally.  .  .  . 

But  now  I  must  tell  you  about  the  storm,  which 
was  very  exciting.  When  we  woke  up  Thursday  it 
was  snowing  hard,  but  almost  all  of  the  children 
came  to  school,  and  we  did  n't  take  in  what  was  going 
on  till  noon,  by  which  time  the  drifts  were  piling  up 
on  the  piazzas,  the  windows,  and  roofs;  the  wind 
blowing  so  that  in  some  places  the  ground  was  bare, 
while  close  by,  the  snow  sloped  up  suddenly  several 
feet.  Sleighs  came  for  the  children  who  ride,  and 
those  who  walk  were  getting  ready  when  Dr.  Francis 


18  LETTEES   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

came  stamping  in  all  covered  with  snow.  "Don't 
think  of  letting  any  of  them  walk,"  he  said;  and 
carried  off  Anne  Head,  who  lives  near  him,  in  his 
sleigh.  This  left  the  little  Atkinsons,  who  live  up 
opposite  the  Annie  Atkinsons,  you  know,  beyond  the 
Guilds.  We  can  almost  see  the  house,  but  the  Doctor 
said  the  drifts  were  very  large  between  there  and 
here,  and  that  long  avenue  all  blocked  up;  so  they 
staid,  of  course;  and  soon  James,  the  Lowells'  man, 
appeared  from  Chestnut  Hill,  for  Olivia  and  Mamy, 
—  but  so  covered  with  snow,  and  his  horse  and  sleigh 
in  such  a  plight,  he  said  he  'd  hardly  venture  to  take 
the  children  back,  the  drifts  were  awful  and  they 
might  freeze.  So  he  went  off,  leaving  four  children 
here,  very  jolly  and  excited  at  the  wonderful  novelty 
of  being  snowed  up  at  school.  The  anxious  mind  of 
the  housekeeper  at  once  reverted  to  the  larder,  for 
in  a  family  of  three  to  be  suddenly  increased  to  seven 
when  you  can't  send  anywhere  for  anything,  is  rather 
puzzling.  Luckily,  most  luckily,  Will  Everett  had 
just  presented  me  with  a  great  roasting  piece  of  his 
pig,  recently  slaughtered  —  and  this  was  actually  the 
dinner  for  the  day,  with  the  idea  of  cut  and  come 
again  on  Sunday.  Well  it  was  cut  and  no  come 
again,  for  none  of  the  children  were  Jews,  and  all 
ate  heartily.  Meanwhile  it  snowed  and  snowed.  No- 
body came  for  the  little  Atkinsons,  and  night  fell. 
Nathan  buffetted  down  to  the  village,  and  found 
everything  stopped  up  in  the  way  of  cars,  and  the 
road  quite  blockaded.  So  we  played  games  with  the 
children  till  their  bed-time;  found  enough  night 
gowns  for  them  with  difficulty,  and  settled  ourselves 
for  the  night. 

Friday  was  bright  and  clear,  but  a  strange  sight 
was  out  of  the  windows.  Snow  heaped  nearly  to  the 
top  of  every  lower  pane,  —  a  wall  of  snow  two  or 
three  feet  in  front  of  every  door,  and  not  a  sign  of 


LIFE   IN   BOSTON"   AND   BROOKLINE   19 

man  or  beast  in  the  road.  No  milk-man,  no  fish-man, 
no  grocer,  no  butcher,  no  ice-man  came  near  that  day, 
though  their  five  respective  carts  usually  jingle  to 
the  door.  Six  I  ought  to  say,  for  the  baker  is  due 
Friday.  The  larder  question  began  to  grow  serious, 
—  for  we  ate  up  the  rest  of  the  pork  for  breakfast. 
Milk  gave  out,  etc.  Not  butter,  for  haven't  I  got 
the  delicious  stone  jar  of  butter  bought  of  Fullum, 
who  had  it  "  put  down  "  at  Fitchburg  ?  Don't  you 
wish  you  had  some,  unfortunate  avoider  of  buffalo 
butter!  All  stamped  in  sweet  pats  by  the  unerring 
Sarah ! 

Of  course  I  had  no  other  scholars  but  the  little 
inmates,  but  kept  a  futile  school  for  them  for  a  few 
hours,  and  then  we  adjourned  to  the  parlour,  where 
painting  was  set  up  on  a  large  scale.  At  twelve  the 
shovelling  boy  came  and  I  sent  him  down  to  the 
village  for  dinner.  Soon  after,  the  heroic  Annie 
Atkinson  appeared  before  the  house,  a  man  before 
her  shovelling  a  path  in  which  she  slowly  advanced. 
She  was  hailed  with  wild  enthusiasm.  She  reported 
that  Walnut  Street  had  been  broken  out,  and  also  the 
Atkinson  Hill,  by  snow  ploughs,  but  still  she  didn't 
dare  to  take  the  children  without  a  Male  (the  shoveller 
came  from  the  Winsors'  and  went  right  off)  ;  so  hav- 
ing relieved  her  mind  by  finding  them  safe,  she  de- 
parted, and  sent  back  here  young  Moses  Williams 
(now  a  Soph,  at  college)  and  his  little  brother,  who 
took  the  children  home.  This  left  two  Lowells,  who 
continued  very  jolly  and  pleasant,  occasionally  "  won- 
dering when  James  would  come "  but  not  at  all 
homesick.  They  are  sweet,  nicely  bred  children  and 
we  really  enjoyed  their  niceness  very  much,  only  you 
can  imagine  it  was  rather  a  bore  to  have  anyone 
round.  Besides,  no  dinner!  for  That  Boy  didn't 
turn  up.  Two  o'clock  came,  no  dinner ;  half-past,  no 
dinner !  At  almost  three  came  the  boy,  just  as  I 


20  LETTERS    OF   SUSAN   BALE 

was  really  beginning  to  worry,  all  panting,  saying  it 
took  him  all  that  time  to  get  down  and  get  back.  I 
don't  believe  that,  by  the  way,  but  think  he  stopped 
to  shovel  somebody  out,  and  turn  an  (?)  penny.  At 
any  rate,  we  were  Thankful  to  see  him,  —  the  fish 
was  soon  fried  and  we  didn't  starve  that  day.  In 
the  afternoon  we  dressed  the  children  up  in  flannel 
drawers  and  turned  them  out  to  play  in  the  drifts. 
It  was  laughable  to  see  them  plunging  like  little 
porpoises  in  the  great  snow  billows.  Olivia  could 
stagger  round  pretty  well,  but  Mamy,  who  is  fat  and 
roly-poly  (eight  years  old),  could  only  tumble  about 
and  get  all  submerged.  I  concluded  to  go  out,  and 
in  high  boots  and  short  skirts  started  for  the  Burs- 
ley's,  to  compare  notes  with  them.  Such  a  time! 
Cypress  Street  proved  to  be  all  unbroken  and  to-day 
I  find  myself  quite  a  heroine  for  being  the  first  to 
break  it  out.  "  Up  to  my  knees  "  is  an  inadequate 
expression,  but  I  plunged  along  "  in  the  footsteps 
which  perhaps  another,  etc.,"  until  pretty  near  the 
Bursley's,  when  I  came  to  a  place  where  all  tracks 
were  obliterated  and  it  was  up  to  my  waist.  I 
couldn't  turn  back,  being  so  near,  and  after  a  good 
tug  found  myself  again  in  a  track  and  arrived  safely. 
I  was  received  with  great  applause,  and  came  home 
very  easily  round  by  the  Town  Hall  and  village, 
where  it  is  well  broken  out.  Saturday  all  the 
butchers  and  bakers  managed  to  find  us.  Three 
Dailys,  three  Transcripts,  and  three  N.  Y.  Heralds 
all  came  together!  The  report  being  spread  that  we 
had  no  milk,  Edward  Hooper  arrived  with  a  big  pail, 
and  Murray  Howe  with  a  full  can,  just  as  the  milk- 
man had  left,  enfin,  four  quarts !  "  James  "  came 
for  the  children  about  noon,  "  the  fire  began  to  burn 
the  stick,  the  stick  began  to  beat  the  dog  "  and  so  on, 
and  we  proceed  as  in  whist.  But  all  Nature  looks 
very  oddly.  Travel  is  still  difficult,  cars  but  just 


LIFE  IN  BOSTON  AND   BROOKLINE   21 

begin  to  run,  and  everybody  you  meet  has  tales  of 
hair-breadth  escapes.  I  've  left  myself  no  room  for 
anything  else,  but  this  is  our  Chief  Event,  as  you 
may  well  imagine. 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 


CHAPTER   II 

Trip  to  Egypt  aiid  the  Holy  Land  with  Miss  Lu- 
cretia  P.  Hale  to  visit  their  brother,  Charles 
Hale,  Consul  General  in  Egypt. 

(1867-1868) 
To  Miss  ANNIE  BTJRSLEY 

ALEXANDRIA,  October  26,  1867. 
(A  week  yesterday  since  we  got  here.} 

MY  DARLING  ANNIE,  —  Just  now  I  got  Fanny  H.'s 
nice  letter  of  just  a  month  ago,  which  tells  me  all 
your  news,  and  sets  my  mind  at  rest  for  the  present, 
but  a  month,  how  long  it  seems  ago,  and  what  are 
you  doing  now?  .  .  . 

I've  been  sick  (not  very)  almost  ever  since  we 
came  —  used  up  with  the  care  of  the  journey,  but  I 
saw  enough  of  our  life  here  the  first  day  or  two  to 
give  you  an  idea,  and  you  mustn't  worry  about  my 
health,  for  a  rest  in  bed  is  the  best  possible  thing 
for  me. 

Charles  has  one  story  of  a  house,  two  nights  from 
the  street.  Do  you  understand?  It  is  all  built 
round  a  well  in  the  middle,  which  lights  the  entry 
and  dining-room.  People  ring  at  the  door  at  the  top 
of  the  stairs  just  like  a  street-door.  I  have  only  been 
out  of  it  once  —  that  was  to  go  to  church  Sunday  — 
for  ladies  don't  walk  out  in  Alexandria !  If  I  'm 
well  enough  we  are  to  drive  this  P.  M. 

We  have  a  maid,  a  native  Arab  but  very  intelli- 
gent, and  you  wouldn't  know  her  from  a  regular 


TO  EGYPT  AND  THE  HOLY  LAND  23 

woman,  for  she  is  dressed  all  right,  only  she  kisses 
our  hands  morning  and  night,  and  calls  Charles 
"  Master."  She  does  everything  for  us.  I  don't  lift 
a  finger.  You  don't  know  how  easy  it  is  to  take  to 
doing  nothing.  "  Fanny,  please  to  fold  those  skirts," 
etc.  I  didn't  touch  to  unpack  the  trunks.  She 
does  up  things  beautifully,  —  my  muslin  waist  is 
lovely. 

At  nine  in  the  morning  she  conies  and  kisses  our 
hands  and  asks  if  we  are  ready  for  coffee,  which  .we 
take  in  bed.  Each  of  us  has  a  little  iron  bedstead 
with  mosquito  netting  all  round.  It  is  hot  night  and 
day,  but  as  we  are  never  in  the  sun  it  is  not  oppres- 
sive. We  lazily  dress  ourselves  and  stroll  into  the 
salon,  where  I  practise  a  little  on  the  piano  or  read, 
or  entertain  visitors,  for  some  come  in  the  morning. 
At  twelve,  or  after,  we  have  dejeuner.  Charles  gives 
his  arm  to  Luc.,  and  we  elegantly  move  into  the 
dining-room,  where  we  eat  such  delicious  things  — 
dainty  birds,  or  chops,  or  omelet  or  fritters,  all  cooked 
by  All,  who  also  waits  at  table.  He  is  all  done  up 
in  a  turban  and  brown  loose  trousers  with  a  red  sash. 
He  only  speaks  Arabic  and  French.  The  breakfast 
ends  with  two  or  three  kinds  of  fruit,  either  dates, 
pomegranates,  bananas,  grapes,  pears.  Isn't  it  ag- 
gravating that  I  had  to  stop  eating  ?  but  I  shall  begin 
again.  After  breakfast,  we  lollop  round  in  the  salon, 
which  is  furnished  with  great  long  couches  —  and 
Ali  brings  coffee  in  little  cups  —  sweet,  without  milk, 
but  very  delicious.  After  that  it  is  too  warm  to  do 
anything,  and  everybody  goes  to  bed.  We  sleep  till 
about  four  when  we  must  be  dressed  for  visitors.  By 
that  time  the  sun  has  left  the  front  of  the  house,  and 
it  is  quite  cool  on  the  balcony,  where  we  sit  and  watch 
the  mad  proceedings  going  on  below.  The  street  is 
narrow,  so  it  looks  quite  deep,  —  and  full  of  Arabs 
raising  Jack  all  the  time.  It  would  take  a  hundred 


24          LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

pages  to  describe.  The  servants  belonging  to  each 
house  sit  on  a  bench  in  a  kind  of  archway  in  the  side- 
walk. They  wear  loose  blue  or  white  gowns  with 
their  brown  legs  and  arms  sticking  out  all  dusty. 
They  have  shoes  but  often  kick  them  off  and  sit 
alongside  barefoot.  Perhaps  a  man  comes  along 
with  a  round  waiter  on  his  head  full  of  yellow  millet, 
sort  of  onion-looking  things,  and  some  brown  things. 
The  person  in  the  blue  night  gown  thinks  he  '11  trade. 
The  man  sets  his  waiter  down  on  a  big  wicker  cage 
he  lugs  for  the  purpose,  and  the  blue  night  gown  buys 
two  little  things  full  of  yellow  corn  and  one  of  the 
onion  things.  He  puts  them  on  the  bench  between 
him  and  the  white  night  gown,  and  both  gobble  them 
up,  the  white  quite  as  much  as  the  blue.  Just  then 
a  Seis  comes  tearing  along.  He  is  a  long-limbed 

Arab,  often  hand- 
somely dressed  in 

re.d  and  g°ld  vest' 
with  white  sleeves 

and  trousers  bal- 
looning out  be- 
hind, and  a  long 
staff  in  his  hand. 
Every  carriage  (of 
note)  has  a  Seis 
who  runs  before 
to  clear  the  narrow  street !  Here  is  a  string  of  camels, 
four  or  five,  joined  by  a  rope  from  the  back  of  one  to 
the  tail  of  another.  They  are  heavily  piled  with  loads 
of  mud,  I  should  think,  and  move  slowly,  necks  bob- 
bing up  and  down.  But  the  dear  little  donkeys  go 
jouncing  by  covered  with  jingling-bells,  like  the  bells 
on  a  tambourine.  They  are  so  lively — I  love  them — 
but  a  blue  boy  rushes  along  pounding  them  with  a 
stick.  Visitors  come  to  interrupt  our  observations.  If 
they  talk  French,  as  is  quite  usual,  I  am  "  sent  to  the 


TO  EGYPT  AND  THE  HOLY  LAND  25 

front/'  and  I  hear  that  somebody  says  one  of  the 
young  ladies  speaks  French  remarkably  well.  That's 
me.  Though  since  I  'm  sick  I  hear  Lucretia  shines 
also.  Ali  brings  coffee  every  time  visitors  are  here 
as  above,  whereby  I  drink  a  good  deal,  for  it  is  eti- 
quette to  pretend  to  drink  each  time. 

At  seven  we  dine,  a  meal  much  like  the  dejeuner. 
You  must  know  everything  is  cooked  over  charcoal 
in  a  very  funny  kitchen.  No  range  or  stove  or  such 
clumsiness.  Then  a  little  music,  much  talking  with 
Charles  and  to  bed  at  ten.  Is  not  that  a  "  change  " 
for  a  N.  E.  schoolma'am  ?  I  won't  cross  lines,  so 
Good-bye. 

YOUR  SUSIE. 


To  Miss  ANNIE  BURSL.EY 

CAIRO,  EGYPT,  Sunday  evening, 
December  8,  1867. 

DEAR  ANNIE,  —  I 've  got  your  letter  of  Nov.  — , 
just  after  you  had  received  my  photograph.  I'm 
horrid  sorry  there  was  such  a  gap  in  my  letters  then. 
It  is  true,  I  couldn't  find  the  heart  to  write  to  you 
for  a  long  time,  and  then  besides,  we  were  going  far- 
ther off,  but  now  that  I  hear  often,  I  feel  like  writ- 
ing to  you  even  more  than  I  do.  I  hope  you  won't 
get  tired  of  my  letters !  .  .  . 

I  have  lots  to  tell  you.  Don't  know  where  to  begin. 
We  are  going  up  the  Nile  this  week,  or  early  next, 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lesley  have  come  here  to  go  with 
us.  Is  n't  that  jolly !  They  were  in  Switzerland,  and 
Charles  sent  to  invite  them  with  us,  and  they  are 
actually  now  at  Charley's  house  in  Alexandria,  and 
coming  here  Wednesday.  We  are  wild  to  see  them. 
You  know  they  are  the  ones  who  were  at  our  house 
two  summers.  We  love  her  very  much ;  and  Mr.  L. 


26  LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

is  very  agreeable,  and  Charles  and  we  all  like  him. 
We  are  going  in  a  steam-boat,  which  is  much  more 
swell  than  the  sail-boats,  called  "dahebiahs,"  like 
those  the  Rodmans,  Lawrences  and  Tuckers  go  in  — 
much  larger  and  more  comfortable,  and  altogether 
more  distinguished.  So  we  shall  go  steaming  by  them 
on  the  river,  and  stop  and  make  a  call  on  them,  and 
they  will  all  lie  down  and  foam  at  the  mouth.  .  .  . 

We  shall  take  books  and  work,  and  I  believe  the 
piano,  and  paints  of  course,  and  just  lollop  on  the 
deck  with  an  awning,  and  eat  delicious  things,  and 
stop  when  we  please  to  go  on  shore,  and  ride  on  don- 
keys to  see  ruins.  What  fun!  I  wish  you  were 
going.  Fanny,  the  maid,  goes,  —  and  Hassan,  who 
is  a  love,  —  and  Mr.  Tarvil,  who  is  "  Dragoman  of 
the  Consulate,"  a  very  distinguished  young  gentle- 
man of  high  birth,  in  a  fez,  but  otherwise  clothed  like 
a  Christian  —  wears  light  gloves,  and  can  talk  Eng- 
lish—  a  very  gentlemanly  little  fellow.  You  know 
Thursday  was  my  birthday.  Mr.  Tarvil  sent  me  a 
gorgeous  bouquet  of  sixty-seven  exquisite  roses  (I 
counted  them)  and  a  long  box  containing  an  amber 
necklace  with  gold  ma  jigs  hanging  from  it.  Wasn't 
it  perfectly  jolly?  Luc.  bought  me  a  bangly  gilt 
clasp  and  belt  at  an  Arab  bazaar,  and  Charley  gave 
me  a  lovely  fat  blank  book  with  drawing-paper 
leaves,  for  a  kind  of  journal  of  this  trip.  When 
Hassan  came  in  that  morning,  he  brought  me  a  big 
bunch  of  flowers  about  two  feet  across,  which  he  pre- 
sented with  a  lovely  grin.  And  we  had  a  bottle  of 
champagne  at  dinner.  Wasn't  it  odd  on  my  birth- 
day to  stand  out  on  the  balcony  in  my  barege  dress, 
arranging  my  roses  ?  —  a  perfectly  lovely  warm  day, 
—  trees  green,  birds  singing,  sun  shining.  Mr.  Law- 
rence gave  me  a  little  riding  whip  (for  donkeys). 

Cairo  is  delightful,  awfully  nicer  than  Alexandria, 
and  we  have  moved  all  our  traps  up  here  and  shall 


TO  EGYPT  AND  THE  HOLY  LAND  27 

be  here  a  good  while  after  we  come  back  from  up 
river.  We  are  at  a  great  big  English  hotel,  which 
only  opens  to-day,  and  we  are  the  only  people  in  it. 
Everything  is  in  a  half-finished  state  from  the  roof 
down  to  the  coffee-cups,  and  the  English  are  so  "stick- 
in-the-mud"  (I  beg  Ira's  pardon,  but  I  really  think 
the  English  are  awfully  stupid)  that  it  seems  as  if 
they  never  would  get  things  under  way,  which  makes 
us  rather  mad,  and  we  cuss  and  swear  at  them  a 
good  deal,  but  the  rooms  are  princely  and  the  cook 
is  French  and  feed  delicious.  The  only  other  people 
as  yet  at  the  table  d'hote  are  Mr.  Forest,  a  director 
of  the  Hotel  Company.  We  call  him  especially 
"  Stick-in-the-Mud,"  for  he  is  a  perfect  owl.  He 
has  his  hair  parted  in  the  middle  and  a  loose  beard 
like  your  brother's  —  but  I  am  glad  to  say  the  like- 
ness extends  no  further.  .  .  .  Our  rooms  are  at  the 
corner  of  the  house  with  a  stone  balcony  running  all 
round,  where  we  sit  and  look  out  on  a  lovely  wide 
view  of  sky  and  trees  and  donkeys  and  camels. 

I  began  a  little  sketch  this  P.  M.  I  hope  I  shall 
have  lots  to  take  home.  Charley  generally  goes  to 
another  hotel,  but  it  is  small,  and  he  gave  up  the 
rooms  he  usually  has  to  the  Lawrences.  We  dined 
there  yesterday  with  them  and  had  rather  a  good 
time.  The  Tuckers  and  their  young  men  are  there, 
"Billy"  Howe,  Lawrence  Mason  and  Arthur  Law- 
rence. The  latter  is  very  pleasant  and  sweet,  I 
think.  .  .  .  He  means  to  be  a  clergyman  —  Episco- 
pal —  but  he  has  a  good  deal  of  fun  —  and  is  hand- 
some and  gentle.  He  has  been  here  to  see  us  —  he 
shares  my  enthusiasm  for  riding  on  donkeys.  We 
shall  see  them  all  on  the  river,  and  perhaps  dine  with 
them  on  Christmas  Day,  if  we  don't  get  too  far  ahead 
of  them.  The  Rodmans  got  off  yesterday,  —  we  paid 
them  a  visit  on  their  dahebiah  the  day  before.  It 
looked  very  cosy  and  nice,  little  cabins  for  each  and 


28  LETTEES   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

a  salon  where  their  books  and  work  were  spread 
about,  but  our  boat  will  be  bigger.  .  .  . 

This  is  the  queerest  town  you  ever  saw :  —  I  shall 
describe  it  in  some  other  letter  which  perhaps  you 
will  see.  I  am  a  great  deal  happier  here  than  any 
time  since  leaving  home,  and  I  expect  to  enjoy  the 
Nile.  Do  write  lots,  you  can't  write  too  much. 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  Miss  ANNIE  BURSLEY 

On  board  "  Besh-bish"  near  TEL-EL-AMANA, 

NILE,  Sunday,  December  m,  1867. 
.  DEAR  ANNIE,  —  I  wish  you  could  see  us,  all  sitting 
on  deck  in  the  soft  wind  and  sunshine.  Charles  and 
Lucretia,  lazy  things,  just  finishing  their  coffee  (ten 
o'clock  A.  M.  ! ) ,  Mrs.  Lesley  and  I  writing  letters, 
Mr.  Lesley  sketching  a  cliff  into  his  notebook,  and 
Mr.  Van  Lennep  making  cartridges,  Hassan  stand- 
ing by  to  help  him. 
This  is  a  picture  of  the 

man  at  tne 

another  old 

as  we  call  them,  to  help 
him.  The  helmsman  is 
generally  on  a  broad 
grin  at  our  proceedings. 
We  have  had  a  per- 
fectly jolly  week,  and 
so  far  the  Nile  voyage 
is  enchanting.  People 
who  take  it  don't  say  half  enough  about  it.  I 
thought  I  would  keep  a  little  journal  day  by  day  for 
you,  but  we  are  so  busy  and  hurried,  and  I  'm  so 
tired  at  night !  I  have  n't  touched  it.  I  think  I  must 
try  to  remember  the  chief  things,  however,  for  you 
will  be  amused,  I  'm  sure. 


TO  EGYPT  AND  THE  HOLY  LAND   29 

Monday  we  went  on  board  and  got  settled  and 
spent  the  night,  but  didn't  start,  for  Charles  was  in 
Alexandria  for  a  ball  which  he  had  to  attend  because 
the  Viceroy  did.  It  was  very  pretty  lying  at  the 
shore  at  "  Boulak,"  the  name  of  the  starting-place  — 
but  awfully  cold  on  deck  with  a  beastly  wind. 

Tuesday  we  had  a  telegram  from  Charles  saying 
he  would  arrive  and  be  ready  to  start  about  three. 
Fanny  came  to  me  and  said,  "  Captain  want  to  know, 
Miss  Susie,  if  you  will  have  the  fires  made  under  the 
engines."  Yes,  I  said  I  would  —  wasn't  it  curious 
to  be  ordering  the  steam  mada  for  a  steam-boat  ?  We 
waited  lunch  for  Charles,  and  started  the  minute  he 
arrived,  but  we  had  a  very  exciting  meal,  for  every 
one  kept  springing  up  and  rushing  to  see  a  palace, 
a  harem  or  something,  as  we  passed  by  Cairo  and  its 
suburb.  It  is  all  very  pretty.  We  were  so  jolly,  five 
of  us,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lesley,  Luc.,  Charles  and  I,  for 
Mr.  Tarvil,  who  went  to  the  ball  with  C.,  saw  fit  to 
miss  the  train  from  Alexandria,  so  we  started  without 
him;  for  you  must  know  there  is  a  railroad  by  the 
side  of  the  river  as  far  as  Minyeh,  and  we  could  pick 
up  the  tardy  Tarvil  at  one  of  the  stations. 

About  two  hours  after  we  started  Hassan  in  great 
excitement  announced  that  he  saw  the  Lawrences' 
dahebiah.  He  instantly  fired  two  pistols.  We 
stopped  and  after  a  great  deal  of  handkerchief  wav- 
ing (they  raised  and  lowered  their  flag  for  a  salute), 
C.  and  I  got  into  our  little  boat,  and  were  rowed 
across  the  river  to  them.  The  river  is  wider  than 
you  would  suppose,  as  wide  as  across  the  cove  at 
J.  Pond,  from  Pine  bank  over  to  Mr.  Frank  Park- 
man's,  perhaps.  When  we  got  over  theve  it  was  al- 
ready dark,  for  there  is  no  twilight  here ;  minute  the 
sun  sets  the  glow  fades,  out  come  the  stars  and  night 
begins.  The  Lawrences  received  us  with  joy,  for 
they  were  very  gloomy.  Only  think,  the  distance  we 


30  LETTEKS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

came  in  two  hours  took  them  four  days,  for  there  was 
a  head  wind  all  the  time,  and  they  only  got  on  by 
"  tracking,"  which  is  being  pulled  along  on  a  tow- 
path  by  the  side,  by  the  crew  and  a  rope.  Mr.  L.  is 
an  invalid,  and  altogether  they  were  having  a  ghastly 
time,  especially  as  they  had  seen  nothing  of  the  other 
boats  of  their  friends,  who  by  starting  earlier  had 
outstripped  them.  However,  we  cheered  them  a  good 
deal,  gave  Mr.  L.  the  latest  Daily  Advertiser  (for  we 
got  a  mail  the  last  thing  before  sailing  which  brought 
me  your  dear  letter  of  the  21st  Nov.)  and  brought 
Mrs.  L.  and  Minna  Motley  across  to  dine  with  us. 
You  must  know  we  have  the  most  stunning  feed,  six 
or  eight  courses  at  lunch  and  dinner.  .  .  .  We  dine 
generally  at  five  or  six  o'clock  on  deck,  which  even 
after  dark  can  be  shut  in  close  with  awnings,  so  that 
our  silver  candelabra  with  six  candles  don't  flare  too 
much,  —  there  are  also  murky  lanterns  hanging  above 
the  table.  After  dinner,  we  adjourned  as  usual  to 
the  salon,  showed  the  ladies  our  cabins  and  cosy  ar- 
rangements and  had  a  refreshing  exchange  of  senti- 
ment. Their  dragoman,  Josef,  came  for  them  in 
their  boat,  and  we  bade  them  farewell.  Our  boat 
always  stops  for  the  nights,  so  all  this  time  we  were 
at  anchor,  but  at  sunrise  next  morning  we  steamed 
off,  leaving  the  L.'s  behind.  I  hope  they  have  had 
better  luck  since. 

Wednesday. — I  was  up  rather  early,  and  had  my 
coffee  alone  on  deck.  Lovely  scenery  on  each  side, 
palms,  villages,  low  hills,  women  leading  sheep  down 
to  water,  donkeys  and  camels  distinct  against  the 
sky.  .  .  . 

By  and  by  we  came  to  Beni  Suef,  and  here  we  had 
the  funniest  time.  The  Consular  Agent  for  U.  S. 
heard  we  were  coming  and  came  down  to  meet  us.  He 
is  an  Arab,  but  Christian,  but  not  at  all  a  Yankee,  — 
don't  talk  anything  but  "Kag-bag."  Hassan  inter- 


TO  EGYPT   AKD   THE   HOLY   LAND     31 

preted.  He  invited  us  to  his  house,  and  we  all  went 
with  him  through  a  large  town  of  narrow  streets  like 
Cairo,  to  his  funny  house  (I  have  a  sketch  of  the 
interior),  where  he  treated  to  sherbet  (awful  good) 
and  coffee.  Besides,  he  sent  lots  of  oranges,  a  sheep 
and  a  turkey  to  the  boat!  Ain't  it  fun  to  be  Con- 
suls ?  Here  Mr.  Tarvil  arrived,  but  to  our  grief  no 
Mr.  Van  Lennep,  whom  Charles  had  invited  to  join 
us,  rather  late  to  be  sure,  at  the  ball  Monday  night. 
That  night  we  steamed  up  a  few  miles  to  some  ala- 
baster quarries  which  Mr.  Lesley  wanted  to  see.  He 
is  splendid  for  this  trip,  for  he  is  thunderingly  scien- 
tific, and  with  maps  and  guide  books  roots  out  all 
kinds  of  things  to  see,  besides  he  can  read  hiero- 
glyphics, and  knows  all  about  Pacht  and  other  god- 
desses and  suns  with  horns  and  so  on.  We  anchored 
just  off  the  quarries  for  the  night,  and  early  the  next 
(Thursday)  morning  Mr.  Lesley  and  I  went  ashore 
(nobody  else  up)  to  examine  the  alabaster.  .  .  .  Mr. 
Lesley  admired  the  alabaster,  and  I  ran  up  a  little 
hill  and  admired  the  lovely,  lovely  river,  with  green 
shores  dotted  with  palms,  stretching  far  away  every- 
where. 

But  this  day,  Thursday,  was  wild.  We  came  upon 
the  Rodmans  who  were  delightful  —  and  so  glad  to 
see  us.  They  had  been  two  weeks  getting  here,  but 
seemed  to  be  having  a  lovely  time,  not  grumbling  at 
detentions  or  inconveniences.  Mr.  Eodman  is  rabid 
on  birds.  He  shoots  and  stuffs  a  great  many.  They 
dined  with  us,  for  we  decided  at  once  to  anchor  by 
them  for  the  night.  Imagine  our  excitement  at  hear- 
ing shouts  from  the  shore,  and  then  appeared  Mr. 
Van  Lennep,  who  sprang  aboard,  panting  and  dusty. 
He  came  by  railroad  too  late  to  catch  us  at  Beni 
Suef,  went  on  at  a  venture  in  the  cars,  and  saw  from 
the  car-window  our  boat  on  the  river.  Jumped  out 
at  a  way-station,  not  knowing  its  name,  and  had  been 


32  LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

running  half  an  hour,  on  the  chance  of  hitting  us. 
If  we  had  n't  stopped  for  the  Rodmans  he  might  have 
missed  us  entirely !  A  chance  Arab  soon  came  along 
with  his  luggage  —  there  always  is  an  Arab  who 
turns  up  to  fetch  and  carry.  Of  course  his  arrival 
was  very  exciting.  I  thought  Emma  Rodman  would 
have  died  of  Van  L.  He  speaks  English  very  well, 
but  with  an  accent,  of  course,  and  in  his  excitement 
he  used  such  idioms.  She  said  he  was  just  like  a  man 
in  a  play,  and  so  he  was.  Get  the  photograph  book 
from  Nathan  and  look  at  him,  for  he  plays  a  promi- 
nent part  in  this  history.  He  is  lovely,  —  so  gay, 
boyish,  gentlemanly,  well-informed,  agreeable  — 
quite  the  life  of  the  party.  He  and  Mr.  Tarvil,  who 
is  not  so  much  of  a  man,  but  harmless,  are  running 
and  fooling  each  other  all  the  time,  in  French,  Italian, 
Arabic  and  English.  I  sit  between  them  at  dinner, 
and  they  vie  with  each  other  in  passing  the  wine, 
and  folding  my  napkin.  Good  fun,  hey? 

The  Rodmans  were  nice,  nice,  nice.  We  parted 
from  them  that  night,  but  their  dahebiah  was  close 
alongside,  and  the  next  morning,  Friday,  they  came 
upon  our  boat  and  we  all  steamed  together  two  or 
three  miles  to  .  .  .  ,  where  we  landed  for  an  excur- 
sion. These  excursions  are  such  fun.  About  a  mil- 
lion donkeys  were  waiting  for  us,  sent  forward  by 
the  Consular  Agent  of  Beni  Suef.  Our  side-saddles 
were  Jieiked  on  to  them,  the  gentlemen  mounted  Arab 
steeds,  also  provided  by  (and  at  expense  of)  Con- 
sular Agent,  and  escorted  by  no  end  of  natives  we  all 
trotted  off  to  see  the  Coptic  Convent,  and  afterwards 
an  ancient  grotto  full  of  hieroglyphics.  I  can't  begin 
to  tell  the  fun.  Emma  and  Mrs.  R.  very  jolly,  our 
little  donkeys  so  sweet,  each  with  a  donkey-boy  hold- 
ing us  on,  and  trying  to  talk  English  or  Arabic  with 
us.  The  strangest  part  is  that  all  the  neighbourhood 
tags  along  too.  I  counted  forty-five  people  in  our 


TO  EGYPT  AND  THE  HOLY  LAND  33 

party,  though  we  ourselves  even  with  Hassan,  etc., 
were  not  a  dozen.  The  "  Captain  of  the  Province " 
was  there  on  horseback,  a  very  swell  personage  wear- 
ing gold  chains  and  a  yellow  and  red  turban.  He 
delighted  in  parading  his  horsemanship,  which  was 
wonderful,  and  careered  before  us  across  the  sand 
just  like  a  desert,  —  in  fact  it  is  nothing  else, — like 
all  the  pictures  of  Bedouins  throwing  the  jereed. 
Van  Lennep  and  Tarvil  also  were  on  splendid  horses, 
anJ  went  coursing  about  throwing  reeds  at  each  other. 
Altogether  it  was  a  wild  scene.  Can  you  fancy  it  at 
all?  Ourselves  on  gentle  donkeys,  our  white  um- 


brellas up,  and  two  or  three  attendants  each,  — 
crowds  of  white-teethed  Arabs,  —  horses  rushing  about 
everywhere  —  and  all  on  a  stretch  of  dazzling  yellow 
sand  wherever  you  could  look,  with  low  sand  hills 
before  us  where  the  Grotto  was.  The  antiquities 
were  not  much  there,  better  farther  on.  The  Copts 
gave  us  coffee  which  we  drank  standing  outside  the 
convent,  with  all  the  Rag-bags  staring  at  us. 

So  back  to  lunch,  which  the  Rodmans  shared  with 
us,  —  and  then  we  sadly  left  them  and  steamed  up 
to  Minyeh,  quite  a  big  town,  where  we  had  to  stop 
to  take  in  coal,  and  stopped  all  night.  Mr.  Van 
Lennep  and  I  tuned  the  guitar  which  Charles  brought 
along.  He  has  an  excellent  ear,  and  knows  a  good 
deal  about  music. 

Saturday,  after  an  hour  or  two  of  steaming,  we 
reached  Beni-Hassan  which  is  a  remarkable  place 


34          LETTEKS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

for  antiquities;  so  we  stopped  for  the  day,  making 
one  excursion  before  luncheon  on  donkeys  as  before, 
and  another  after.  In  the  morning  we  had  even 
more  escort  than  before,  so  after  lunch  as  we  started 
Charley  told  Hassan  to  tell  them  that  only  those 
must  go  with  us  who  were  absolutely 
necessary  —  "that  he  would  not  have 
the  Whole  Village  accompany  us, 
and  that  if  they  did  he  should  punish 
them."  You  ought  to  have  seen  them 
scuttle  when  they  heard  this.  Seems 
as  if  I  should  die  laughing  to  think 
that  it 's  necessary  to  order  the  whole 
village  to  stay  at  home.  After  all 
there  were  about  six  to  each  donkey. 
Here  is  one,  clothed,  fact,  you  observe,  in  the  "  tight- 
fitting  brown  costume"  described  by  Thackeray  in 
"  Cornhill  to  Cairo,"  all  shaved  but  a  little  tuft  on 
the  top  of  his  head.  .  .  . 

Yours, 

SUSIE. 
To  THE  HALE  FAMILY 

ASSOUAN,  Sunday,  January  5,  1868. 

DEAR  FAMILY, — Don't  suppose  that  the  Nile  is  a 
place  of  leisure,  for  nobody  since  Luc.'s  last  date  has 
had  any  time  for  writing !  Besides  to  tell  all  we  do 
would  take  volumes;  but  I  must  try  to  go  on  with 
matters  where  she  left  them. 

Sunday,  22d  December. — We  steamed  quietly  up 
river,  resting  and  writing  what  you  see  —  but  in  the 
P.M.  we  reached  Siut,  where  the  "brother"  of  the 
Consular  Agent  awaited  us  ("brother"  means 
"  friend,"  but  is  the  term  in  constant  use  on  the 
Nile),  with  donkeys  richly  caparisoned  —  lovely  fel- 
lows to  escort  us  to  the  town  about  a  mile  off.  The 
two  sons  of  the  C.  Agent  also  came  on  board,  youths 


TO  EGYPT  AND  THE  HOLY  LAND   35 

of  fourteen  and  sixteen  who  can  talk  a  little  English. 
Our  cortege,  amounting  to  thirty  or  so  agents  and 
carwasses,  was  imposing.  The  ride  was  lovely, 
through  green  fields  on  a  high  causeway,  which  was 
raised  for  the  telegraph  poles,  which  reach,  indeed, 
even  here  to  Assuan!  At  Siut  there  was  a  great 
deal  of  hospitable  backing  and  filling,  because  our 
Consular  Agent  was  away,  but  that  didn't  seem  to 
be  any  reason  why  his  "brother"  shouldn't  invite 
us  to  a  gorgeous  dinner.  So  we  went  first  to  C. 
Agent's  house  and  had  coffee  and  saw  his  little 
daughter  and  his  monkey,  and  afterwards  sons,  and 
all  came  to  "brother"  Weesa's  house  where  we  had 
such  a  dinner!  Ourselves  were  seven,  —  the  Ameri- 
can missionary  was  invited,  he  happens  to  be  a 
Scotchman,  named  Hogg.  The  Mondiah  of  the  Prov- 
ince came,  very  swell  in  tan-coloured  kid  gloves  and 
otherwise  European  in  costume,  but  only  talking 
Arabic;  a  friend,  in  a  promiscuous  costume  who 
dropt  in  for  no  special  reason  that  we  could  find  out, 
completed  the  party  at  table,  for  the  worthy  Weesa 
himself  only  helped  the  five  or  six  Arabic  "Pegs" 
and  "  Fullums  "  who  served  the  meal.  There  was  also 
an  anxious-browed  friend,  whom  we  called  Frank 
Peabody  from  the  resemblance,  who  stood  in  the 
doorway  (in  a  turban)  and  advised  about  matters,  — 
rushing  for  an  additional  tumbler  when  it  was  needed. 
The  sons  of  the  C.  Agent  and  half  a  dozen  children 
were  suppressed  during  dinner,  and  Hassan  sate 
without  in  the  entry. 

Well,  there  were  thirteen  courses  which  we  ate,  all 
delicious,  and  when  we  said  we  couldn't  eat  any 
more,  which  is  the  custom,  there  were  still  eight  more 
dishes  visible,  to  come,  and  more  doubtless  in  the 
kitchen.  The  piece  de  resistance  was  a  whole  sheep, 
which  Mr.  Tarvil  carved.  It  proved  to  be  stuffed 
with  a  pillar  of  rice  containing  almonds  and  other 


36  LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

matters.  Sweets  and  solids  are  alternated,  not  as 
with  us  —  so  blanc-mange  appeared  after  chicken, 
and  next  came  sausages.  What  a  dinner!  After- 
wards, when  we  had  returned  to  the  salon,  we  had  tea 
served  with  orange  squeezed  into  it,  very  good.  Then 
came  the  dancing  girls,  richly  caparisoned,  and  an 
extraordinary  orchestra  which  sate  on  the  floor  and 
produced  rare  sounds.  We  left  on  our  donkeys  be- 
tween eight  and  nine.  It 
was  perfectly  dark  and  riding 
through  the  narrow  streets 
lighted  by  candles,  borne  by 
Hag-bags,  in  immense  lanterns, 
was  very  Arabian  Nights- 
esque.  The  street  is  shut  off 
at  intervals  by  great  wooden  doors,  which  are  opened 
when  thumped  by  One-eyed  Calenders.  .  .  . 

Tuesday,  steaming  again,  and  Susie,  Luc.,  and  I 
very  busy  preparing  little  matters  for  the  stockings. 
We  dine  on  deck  every  day,  just  at  sunset,  when  we 
stop  steaming  for  the  night.  ...  If  it  is  too  cool 
for  all  the  evening  on  deck  we  go  down  by  and  by 
to  the  salon,  where  we  play  picquet,  read  Artemus 
Ward,  or  write  a  paper  of  consequences.  At  eight 
o'clock  Benedetto  brings  a  tray  with  tea,  which  is 
served  generally  by  Mr.  Van  Lennep,  and  we  break  up 
by  nine  or  ten,  very  tired,  especially  after  excursions. 
We  are  writing  a  novel,  each  one  a  chapter,  by  turns, 
and  every  day  at  dinner  the  new  chapter  is  read, 
amid  the  yells  of  the  company.  It  is  getting  very 
exciting. 

We  got  Hassan  (much  pleased)  to  put  the  stockings 
by  the  beds  of  the  gentlemen.  There  was  a  little 
interchange  of  stockings  in  the  female  quarter  and 

Wednesday,  Xmas,  great  hilarity  was  caused  by 
the  opening  thereof.  I  prepared  waggish  and  appro- 
priate sketches,  which  cause  a  smile,  for  each  stock- 


,TO  EGYPT  AND  THE  HOLY  LAND   37 

ing.  We  reached  Denderah  pretty  early  and  went 
off  to  the  ruins  on  donkeys,  taking  our  lunch  with 
us.  This  was  our  first  genuine  Ruin  of  a  temple, 
and  very  interesting,  although  stupidly  modern,  being 
only  the  age  of  the  Ptolemies  and  Cleopatra.  Mr. 
Lesley  is  death  on  hieroglyphics  and  cartouches. 
Thanks  to  him  we  all  know  "Kamses  II"  like  a 
familiar  friend,  and  the  sign  of  life  is  as  readily 
recognised  (and  as  common  here)  as  S.  T.  1860  X 
on  the  Ruins  of  West  Roxbury.  Mr.  Van  Lennep 
is  devoted  to  the  subject,  and  Mr.  Lesley.  The  rest 
follow  with  unequal  steps,  more  or  less  ardent.  I 
confess  I  have  very  little  power  of  digestion  for  de- 
ciphering hieroglyphics.  I  am  apt  to  settle  down 
with  my  paint-box  and  sketch  a  green  field  and  a 
little  bit  of  mountain  \vhich  haven't  the  remotest 
connection  with  Ramses  and  Thormoses.  I  like  im- 
mensely the  temples  and  obelisks,  but  not  the  things 
on  them — except  in  very  small  doses.  .  .  .  We 
lunched  on  the  very  top  of  Denderah,  with  the  hawk- 
headed  god,  Horas,  or  perhaps  it  was  the  goddess, 
Pacht,  sticking  out  her  leg  at  us  on  the  wall.  Do 
forgive  me  if  I  don't  say  enough  about  the  antiqui- 
ties. It  is  all  in  "Murray."  Mind,  I  like  them, 
only  I  can't  describe  about  the  North-wall  and  the 
South-wall  and  the  left  wing  of  the  propylon.  That 
p.  M.  we  went  across  the  river,  I  think,  in  our  small 
boat,  to  Keneh,  where  the  Besh-bish  was  coaling.  A 
jolly  Christmas  dinner  and  flaming  plum-pudding. 
There  spent  the  night,  and 

Thursday,  reached  Thebes  at  noon,  where  we  stayed 
five  days.  Here  lives  Mustafa  Aga,  C.  Agent  both 
for  French  and  English,  a  character  —  Arabic,  with 
a  smattering  of  all  languages.  Vain,  simple,  sweet 
old  thing,  very  hospitable.  He  has  built  his  house 
under  the  portico  of  an  old  temple,  so  that  it  is  en- 
tered through  grand  old  columns.  We  made  him  a 


38  LETTERS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

call,  and  lie  gave  us  coffee,  sherbet,  and  also  lots  of 
blue  china  antiquities,  and  other  rare  things.  We 
moored  the  boat,  however,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river,  for  convenience  of  going  to  the  Temple  of 
Quornah,  which  we  did  that  same  afternoon.  Very 
lovely,  and  old,  lots  of  Ramses.  We  went  also  to  the 
Ramesium,  which  is  near,  and  where  is  the  great  big 
statue  fallen  down,  the  largest  in  the  world,  but  all 
ruined. 

Friday,  a  delightful  day  at  the  Tombs  of  the  Kings, 
only  Susie  Lesley  was  too  tired  to  go  with  us.  It  is 
a  very  long  donkey  ride  through  marvellous  wastes 
of  sand,  and  the  tombs  are  excavated,  sixty  feet  down- 
ward, in  the  mountain.  Didn't  Belzoni  have  fun 
finding  them!  The  walls  inside  are  covered  with 
paintings  still  very  bright  in  colour.  We  had  each 
a  candle  to  grope  about  with.  There  was  one  awf ul 
place  leading  into  the  very  bowels  of  the  earth,  and 
smelling  very  considerably  of  mummy.  No  mum- 
mies there  now,  —  but  when  we  came  out  we  had  a 
very  funny  time  with  crowds  of  "Rag-bags"  who 
came  round  with  antiquities  ? ! !  ?  We  all  sate  down 
on  the  yellow  sand  exhausted  with  the  climb  up  the 
steep  steps  of  "  No.  18 "  (tombs  are  numbered)  ; 
these  creatures  came  round  with  sort  of  bags  or  bas- 
kets, and  squatting  before  us,  and  gradually  hitching 
up  closer,  till  finally  their  glowering  eyes  and  grin- 
ning teeth  were  right  in  our  faces ;  silently  they  pro- 
duced their  treasures  —  a  mummy  hand  with  ring 
on  it,  a  piece  of  mummy-case,  a  scarabaeus,  and  so 
on.  Hassan,  standing  in  the  midst,  does  the  bargain- 
ing. "Well,  Hassan,"  says  the  Consul,  "you  may 
ask  him  what  he'll  take  for  this  hawk  with  nothing 
but  the  feet  and  tail  left."  Hassan  to  man,  "  War- 
raqua,  warragy."  Man  says  five  pounds.  Hassan 
throws  the  thing  contemptuously  in  his  face,  "  La, 
la!"  (No,  no !).  "I  '11  give  you  two  piastres."  (Eight 


TO  EQYPT  AND  THE  HOLY  LAND   39 

piastres  make  a  shilling.)  So  the  man  gives  it,  and 
takes  two  piastres.  Mr.  Lesley  rather  wanted  a 
scarabseus,  for  which  the  owner  demanded  an  enor- 
mous price.  It  ended  in  his  taking  a  shilling.  After 
this  we  lunched  at  the  mouth  of  a  tomb,  and  Luc. 
and  I  napped  on  the  sand.  It  is  a  desolate  enough 
place  without  a  spear  of  grass  or  a  tree.  The  men 
went  into  several  other  tombs, — 'but  No.  18  is  the 
best.  A  fatiguing  day  but  good,  —  and  it 's  lovely 
dropping  down  to  the  river  on  the  gentle  little  don- 
keys in  the  magnificent  sunsets  we  have  every  night, 
all  different.  Of  course  I  can't  tell  half  the  inci- 
dents of  donkey-boys  contretemps,  etc.,  that  keep  us 
in  a  state  of  constant  frolic  and  excitement.  Hassan 
brings  me  every  flower  that  grows  —  not  many,  but 
some  are  lovely,  the  blossoms  generally  of  the  new 
fresh-springing  crops,  all  leguminosaB,  every  one  of 
'em,  except  some. 

Saturday. — Donkeys  again  to  Medineh  Haboo, 
still  on  the  W.  side  of  the  river  —  a  grand  temple, 
with  a  courtyard  and  pillars  still  magnificent.  Home 
at  sunset  by  the  Great  Colossi,  one  of  which  is  the 
Vocal  Statue  (beloved  by  Holland),  which  I  like 
best  of  everything  in  Egypt.  The  dear  old  things 
sit  so  comfortably  with  their  hands  on  their  knees, 
looking  forth  across  the  valley,  in  a  lovely  glowing 
field  of  green,  doing  just  what  they  have  a  mind  to, 
and  not  having  to  move  for  anything.  We  saw  them 
all  these  days,  but  now  near  for  the  first  time.  They 
are  enormous,  —  and  how  lovely,  their  long  shadows 
slanting  across  the  plain.  As  for  the  Voice,  it  is 
ridiculous,  and  I  believe  it  used  to  speak  differently. 
This  day  we  moved  over  to  the  Thebes  side  and  were 
to  have  done  Karnak  on 

Sunday  —  but  for  a  wonder,  I  was  really  sick  with 
heiking,  —  and  all  were  so  tired  it  was  decided  to 
rest,  a  delightful  conclusion  of  the  Consul.  I  stayed 


40          LETTERS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

on  the  bed  and  Susie  Lesley  nursed  me  in  a  lovely 

manner.     Up-stairs  they  had (whose  dahebiah 

overtook  us  here)  to  lunch.  He  is  a  'New  Jersey 
man,  who  came  up  with  wife,  daughter  and  son.  Son 
sick,  they,  disgusted,  turned  round  at  Thebes  and  went 
home.  Fools,  thorough  (bad)  specimens  of  preju- 
diced Americans.  They  have  afforded  us  fun,  —  but 
I  won't  waste  time  on  their  idiot-syncrasies.  They 
mean  well. 

Monday,  December  30.  —  I  was  all  right  and 
everybody  fresh  and  lively  for  Karnak,  which  is  con- 
sidered, you  know,  the  great  thing  of  all  on  the  whole 
Nile.  As  I  understand  it,  Thebes  is  the  modern 
name  of  a  town  on  the  ruins  of  an  old  town,  named 
Luxor.  Karnak  is  a  great  old  temple  half  a  mile 
out  of  Luxor,  and  the  Colossi  and  those  other  places  we 
have  seen  before  were  clustered  about  the  Grandeurs 
of  Karnak.  The  river  now  runs  between ;  but  some 
people  think  it  used  to  go  the  other  side  of  Karnak 
which  was  then  connected  by  avenues  with  the  Colossi 
and  all  that.  But  then  again,  others  think  the  river 
always  did,  etc.  You  can  read  a  great  deal  of 
twaddle  about  Karnak,  and  see  a  great  many  pic- 
tures that  don't  look  anything  like  it  in  books  such 
as  "Bartlett's"  and  others.  It  is  magnificent,  and 
beyond  description.  There  is  a  great  deal  left  of  it, 
though  all  speaks  of  ruin,  —  but  especially  the  grand 
hall  of  pillars,  close  together  like  a  grove  of  palms 
and  no  roof  but  the  bright  blue  sky  above,  is  beauti- 
ful and  solemn.  We  spent  a  long  day  there,  wander- 
ing with  the  guide  to  the  different  obelisks  and  won- 
ders, but  always  returning  to  the  grand  hall.  It 
seems  frivolous  even  to  mention  that  we  lunched  at 
the  feet  of  these  great  pillars, — but  lunch  was  very 
refreshing,  especially  when  Mustafa  Aga's  surprise 
appeared  in  the  form  of  an  immense  tin  waiter, 
which  being  uncovered  displayed  a  whole  turkey  and 


TO  EGYPT  AND  THE  HOLY  LAND  41 

a  whole  sheep,  each  richly  cooked,  and  stuffed  with 
rice  fixin's,  brought  hot  from  his  house.  He  was 
present  himself,  and  we  drank  his  health  in  cham- 
pagne. While  we  were  feasting,  his  attendants  spread 
in  another  part  of  the  temple  at  the  foot  of  the  col- 
umns a  large  turkey  carpet  and  cushions,  to  which 
we  retired  and  where  we  reclined,  drinking  hot  cof- 
fee and  (the  gentlemen)  smoking.  Thus  comfortably, 
we  fell  asleep,  or  dozed,  looking  up  at  the  sky  beyond 
the  graceful  capitals, —  and  at  lovely  birds  floating 
in  the  sunlight.  .  .  .  We  all  stayed  till  after  dark, 
which  comes  soon  after  sunset,  to  see  the  effect  of 
some  rockets  or  blue-lights  in  the  great  hall.  Then 
home  by  lovely  starlight  and  a.  little  new  moon.  .  .  . 
Wednesday,  January  1.  —  Mr.  Tarvil  prepared 
for  us  a  lovely  surprise,  for  on  coming  on  deck  in 
the  morning  we  found  presents  for  everyone,  grouped 
about  a  rare  old  image,  very  antique,  of  some  king, 
for  the  Consul.  The  presents  are  all  real  antiquities, 
which  he  got  at  Thebes;  they  were  accompanied  by 
little  mottoes  or  inscriptions  with  each.  Wasn't  it 
pretty  of  him  ?  Before  noon  we  got  to  Edf ou,  don- 
keyed  to  Temple,  the  last  cleared  out  I  think  by 
Mariette  Bey  and  so  in  beautiful  condition,  —  a  won- 
derful courtyard,  and  splendid  view  of  the  Nile  Val- 
ley from  the  top  of  the  What  's-his-name,  reached  by 
two  hundred  and  twenty-five  steps  built  into  the  wall, 
just  like  the  roll-marble  things  Charley  used  to  do 
with  the  bricks.  Lady  Duff  Gordon's  boat  was  here, 
and  she  came  to  lunch  with  us.  Very  agreeable  and 
amusing.  She  lives  in  her  dahebiah,  cruising  up  and 
down  as  she  likes.  Quite  strong-minded,  but  well- 
mannered  and  well-informed.  She  assumed  the  con- 
versation, and  carried  it  through  with  a  firm  hand, 
to  the  satisfaction  of  the  audience,  pausing  occasion- 
ally to  give  the  rest  a  chance,  but  more  often  for  a 
whiff  at  her  cigarette.  She  is  a  picturesque  looking 


42          LETTERS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

creature,  tall  with  long  black  skirt,  no  hoops  (but 
no  more  have  we,  here),  and  a  hat  wound  with  white 
cashmere.  She  carries  a  cane,  and  looks  a  little  in- 
firm —  not  with  age  —  about  fifty-five,  I  should  think, 
but  delicate  health.  Why  she  blows  up  and  down  the 
Nile  year  in  and  year  out,  while  Lord  Alexander 
D.  G.  pursues  some  honest  mercantile  calling  in  Lon- 
don, I  dunno,  and  I  didn't  ask  her. 

Thursday.  —  When  we  got  up  we  found  ourselves 
at  Silsilis,  where  are  traces  of  the  ancient  quarries 
where  Ramses  got  his  building-things.  A  few  of  us 
stopped  to  see  them,  then  we  steamed  on  and  to  our 
surprise  in  an  hour  or  two  were  at  Assuan. 

This  is  the  end  of  our  steaming,  for  here  is  the 
First  Cataract  which  our  steamer  cannot  pass.  Dahe- 
biahs  sometimes  go  farther,  but  often  don't.  At  any 
rate,  we  have  had  lots  of  pleasure,  and  it  would  be 
idle  to  regret  not  going  on  —  though  we  are  all  sorry 
to  turn  back,  especially  as  we  shall  go  down  much 
faster,  and  stopping  but  little.  Who  would  not  be 
a  Baker  bold,  and  go  up  to  the  Albert  Nyanza.  The 
natives  and  the  scenery  get  more  BaJcer-ish  every 
day.  We  are  now  entirely  used  to  seeing  our  fellow 
citizens  without  any  clothing  whatever;  a  simple 
turban,  or  a  mantle  over  the  shoulders,  seems  almost 
oppressive.  There  are  rocks  on  the  shore  and  in  the 
river.  The  view  is  lovely. 

Friday,  at  an  early  hour,  the  donkeys  were  waiting 
on  the  shore,  and  camels  also  came  and  offered  them- 
selves, but  Hassan  drove  them  off.  You  must  know 
at  all  these  places  there  has  been  a  visit  from  a  Con- 
sular Agent,  or  his  brother,  great  kow-towing,  offers 
of  attentions,  and  often  a  present  of  sheep  and  tur- 
keys. They  all  are  very  smiling,  and  transmit 
through  Tarvil  expressions  of  devotion  to  Charles. 
They  generally  accompany  us  with  all  their  relations 
on  our  excursions,  and  provide  the  richest  donkeys 


TO  EGYPT  AND  THE  HOLY  LAND   43 

the  land  affords.  My  donkey  on  this  trip  was  that 
of  the  "  Inspector  General,"  and  a  very  lovely  beast. 
We  all  set  off  for  a  fleet  donkey  gallop  over  the  sands, 
to  the  town  opposite  the  island  of  Philae  —  a  wild 
Nubian  village,  the  streets  full  of  heaps  of  dried 
dates,  —  women  selling  henna,  a  green  powder,  men 
with  wonderful  woolly  hair.  We  got  into  a  little 
dahebiah  to  cross  the  river  —  such  yelling !  —  and,  as 
we  crossed,  the  river  was  alive  with  enviable  little 
Nubians  floating  about  on  logs,  and  crying  "  Back- 
sheesh."  They  roll  up  their  slight  clothing  in  a  wob 
on  their  heads,  and 
then  sitting  on  a  log 
of  the  Doum  palm 
(which  is  very 
floatsy),  they  career 
about  in  the  stream. 

We  passed  a  lovely  day  at  Philse,  and  then  came 
back  down  the  cataract  in  a  little  dahebiah.  The 
cataract  is  a  tremendous  rapid,  nothing  more,  but  the 
natives  make  a  tremendous  time  of  the  pass,  and  it 
really  is  a  little  precarious.  They  howl  and  yell,  say 
their  prayers  —  the  boat  swoops  over  the  foam,  a  few 
waves  break  over  the  deck,  and  with  a  swirl,  swing 
round  at  the  foot  of  the  fall.  The  sailors  dance  for 
joy,  seize  their  oars,  and  keep  off  the  rocks.  It  was 
a  wild  scene.  Such  a  din  I  never  heard. 

Saturday,  we  had  a  quiet  morning,  all  a  good  deal 
knocked  up  with  the  day  before.  In  the  afternoon 
we  had  a  nice  donkey-ride  through  the  town,  which 
is  odder  than  Siut,  and  in  the  evening  a  visit  from 
young  Duff  Gordon,  for  Lady  G.'s  dahebiah  has  got 
up  here.  He  is  a  boy  of  eighteen,  intelligent,  very 
English,  handsome  open  face,  and  blue  eyes.  He 
was  at  school  at  Eton,  and  he  talks  about  "  an  awful 
row  "  and  other  things  quite  in  the  language  of  Tom 
Brown. 


44          LETTEES   OF   SUSAN  BALE 

Sunday.  —  This  morning  we  had  a  visit  from  a 
French  Minister  Plenipotentiary,  who  is  here  in  an- 
other of  the  Viceroy's  steamers,  a  lovely  handsome 
man  of  some  fifty  summers,  with  elegant  French 
manners.  As  he  left,  little  Gordon  came  to  lunch, 
but  before  we  got  to  lunch  two  Englishmen  sot  in, 
Mr.  Ind.  Coope  and  his  tutor,  Mr.  Tolfrey,  who  are 
friends  of  the  Kodmans,  and  very  impatient  to  see 
them.  See  how  we  have  randans,  even  six  hundred 
miles  from  the  sea.  As  soon  as  possible  after  lunch, 
we  got  up  steam  and  were  off,  amid  firing  of  guns 
and  waving  handkerchiefs,  with  the  other  civilised 
just  mentioned.  But  to  tell  the  truth  we  are  now 
stuck  on  a  sand-bank  just  opposite  Assuan !  —  and 
Charles  has  just  thrown  down  to  us  in  the  salon  from 
the  deck  an  elegant  French  note  from  the  French 
minister  offering  to  come  a  I'aube  dernain,  and  haul 
us  off.  If  it  should  prove  we  can't  get  off  and  have 
to  live  here,  I  shall  send  this  letter  by  him  —  as  he 
leaves  in  a  week  or  two.  .  .  . 


Friday,  January  9.  —  We  did  n't  have  to  live  op- 
posite Assuan,  but  we  had  sich  a  time!  The  Gov- 
ernor of  that  place  sent  word  that  two  hundred  and 
fifty  men  should  come  to  get  us  off.  They  kept  ar- 
riving in  piratical-looking  scow-like  dahebiahs  —  not 
two  hundred  and  fifty,  but  twenty-eight,  who  pretty 
much  filled  the  boat.  We  sate  on  deck  watching 
them  tugging  at  a  rope,  don't  expect  me  to  explain, 
which  ran  along  the  deck,  singing,  "  Allah !  ha  li ! 
Allah  he  li,"  the  loveliest  chaunt,  all  the  time,  the 
captain  and  many  others  screaming  orders,  —  a  regu- 
lar domdaniel.  At  eleven  o'clock  (no  use  going  to 
bed  in  that  din),  they  got  us  off,  and  then  it  was 
sweet  to  see  Hassan  paying  these  rag-bags,  a  moder- 
ate backsheesh  of  a  few  copper  piastres  to  each, 


TO  EGYPT  AND  THE  HOLY  LAND   45 

which  made  them  smile  from  ear  to  ear  and  say, 
"Ketter  hairak,"  which  means,  "thanks."  ..." 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  NATHAN  HALE 

HOTEL  DES  AMBASSADETTRS,  CAIRO, 
January  22,  1868. 

Wednesday.  —  Charles  to  Alexandria  for  a  few 
days  —  and  we  to  the  Pyramids.  Shall  I  tell  it 
long  or  short  ?  Well,  say  down  to  the  end  of  the 
next  page. 

Hassan  went  with  C.  —  but  Haggi  was  left  in 
charge,  and  donkeys,  carriage  and  lunch  were  or- 
dered over  night  for  eight  o'clock.  At  half-past  nine 
or  after  we  started,  but  I  won't  describe  the  cussin' 
and  swearin'  which  occupied  the  interval.  A  cawass 
of  the  police  on  horseback  in  light-blue  broadcloth 
and  a  sword,  —  and  a  secondary  cawass  on  a  don- 
key with  pistols,  accompanied  us  for  General  Effect, 
and  to  keep  off  the  natives.  The  gentle  Haggi 
mounted  the  box.  We  drove  to  Old  Cairo,  whither 
donkeys  had  preceded  us.  At  the  ferry  there,  what 
a  scrimmage!  One  donkey  fell  down  but  soon  got 
up  —  the  cavvass's  horse  refused  to  cross  on  the  boat, 
so  he  had  to  take  to  a  donkey.  Amid  yells  we  got 
off  and  got  across,  —  there  to  mount  our  little  beasts 
for  a  lovely  ride  to  the  Pyramids  on  the  raised  road 
prepared  for  the  railway  track. 

/  ascended  the  Grand  Pyramid;  Lucretia  got 
halfway;  Mr.  Lesley  only  a  few  rods,  and  Susie 
did  n't  try.  It  is  a  fearful  heik  and  entre  nous  don't 
pay.  But  I  thought  my  constituents  in  America 
would  be  disappointed  if  I  didn't  make  the  ascent. 
I  beg  you  not  to  think  the  height  of  the  blocks  is 
here  exaggerated,  for  it  isn't.  Nothing  dangerous, 


46  LETTEES   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

though  fatiguing,  and  the  Arabs  very  strong.  They 
pull  you  up  like  a  weed.  I  found  myself  alone  at 
the  top  with  my  two  guides,  one 
of  whom  could  talk  English,  and 
pestered  me  for  backsheesh,  but  I 
talked  to  him  like  a  father  till  he 
desisted.  Afterwards  we  lunched, 
and  took  a  prolonged  view  of 
the  Sphynx,  who  is  very  good. 
Home  by  sunset,  but  awful  tired.  We  think  we 
prefer  the  Pyramids  at  a  respectful  distance.  .  .  . 


To  Miss  ANNIE  E.  BURSLEY 

[ALEXANDRIA],  Wednesday  evening, 
February  5,  1868. 

So,  my  dear,  we  have  got  back  here  and  I  have 
your  delightful  letters  of  January  2,  and  Jan- 
uary 9.  Alas !  you  are  perfectly  right  about  people 
living  together.  It  would  never  do.  I  would  risk 
your  peculiarities  and  mine,  perhaps,  but  the  two 
families.  No.  If  you  and  I  get  toothless  and  shaky, 
twenty  years  hence,  we  will  retire  from  the  world 
together  and  fight  it  out  in  the  N.  W.  corner  of  Ver- 
mont, or  some  such  place. 

Dear,  I  shall  quarrel  with  one  thing  you  said  — 
but  then  you'll  never  stick  to  it  —  that  it's  better 
not  to  get  attached  to  people  in  places,  and  so  save 
disappointments  and  separations.  Don't  you  know 
you  've  got  to  love  somebody,  and  if  you  shut  your 
heart  out  from  other  people  you'll  take  to  loving 

yourself?  Look  at  ;  a  melancholy  illustration 

of  not  caring  for  others.  No,  no,  love  all  the  people 
you  can.  The  sufferings  from  love  are  not  to  be 
compared  to  the  sorrows  of  loneliness.  .  .  . 

YOUR  LOVING  SUSIE. 


TO  EGYPT  AND  THE  HOLY  LAND  47 

To  EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE 

MARSABA,  April  8,  1868. 

DEAR  EDWARD,  —  Those  who  travel  in  tents  have 
very  little  chance  for  writing;  but  to-day  we  have 
had  only  a  short  march,  and  found  ourselves  here 
at  noon,  where  we  are  to  rest  till  to-morrow.  So 
after  lunching  in  the  shadow  of  the  convent  —  which 
is  so  inhospitable  as  only  to  give  water  to  strangers, 
and  admit  none,  we  have  taken  ourselves  to  our  tents. 
It  is  fearfully  hot  and  sultry,  still  a  slight  breeze 
comes  in  at  our  door  and  I  sit  in  my  shirt-sleeves  to 
write.  Now  I  think  you  are  enough  mystified,  and 
I  '11  set  about  telling  how  we  got  here.  To  begin 
where  Lucretia  left  off  above  — 

Saturday,  April  4,  was  cold  and  rainy.  Luc.  and 
I  stayed  indoors  all  day.  ...  I  painted  away  on 
flowers  at  every  spare  minute.  I  want  you  all  to  get 
an  idea  of  them,  though  there  are  such  millions,  it 
is  out  of  the  question  to  keep  pace  with  them. 

Sunday,  we  got  up  at  four-thirty  A.M.  ! !  (not 
Lucretia,  she  stayed  in  her  bed  wisely),  had  coffee 
at  five,  and  then  escorted  by  Finkenstein  (Ameri- 
can V.  Consul)  and  his  sister  repaired  through  the 
damp  and  rainy  streets  to  the  Church  of  the  Holy 
Sepulchre  for  the  ceremony  of  Palm  Sunday.  It 
was  necessary  to  go  thus  early  on  account  of  the 
crowd,  which  was  immense.  HW  shall  I  give  you 
an  idea  of  the  thing  ?  Two  separate  ceremonies  were 
going  on  at  once ;  the  Greek  and  the  Latin ;  also,  in 
fact,  the  Armenian,  I  believe,  but  they  were  out  of 
sight.  The  two  (G.  and  L.)  chapels  open  on  each 
other,  each  gorgeously  lighted  with  many  candles; 
a  low  gate  shut  out  the  Greeks  from  meddling  with 
the  Latins.  We  saw  the  Latin  ceremony,  but  heard 
the  tarn-taming  of  the  Greeks,  and  smelt  their  in- 


48          LETTEES   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

cense.  A  Bishop  (the  Patriarch  is  at  Eome)  went 
in  and  out  of  the  Sepulchre-cell,  had  his  hat  taken 
off  and  put  on  frequently,  chaunted  out  of  a  big  book, 
with  a  chorus  of  a  few  boys.  After  this  he  blessed 
the  palms  and  presented  them  to  the  faithful;  any- 
one who  chose  to  advance  to  him  and  kneel  received 

one;  and  our  strong-minded  female  friend (who 

was  on  the  Atlantic  with  us,  and  travelling  alone, 
has  got  herself  as  far  as  Jerusalem,  ain't  it  funny ! ) 
was  among  the  first  to  receive  one.  No  reason  why, 
you  know,  she  is  Eegular  Orthodox  —  but  the  push- 
ing kind  —  and  was  with  our  party  at  the  church  that 
day.  The  only  wonder  is  that  she  is  not  now  in  this 
tent  accompanying  us  to  the  Jordan.  But  I  digress. 
There  are  several  princesses  in  J.  for  Easter  — 
these  received  highly  ornamented  palms.  We  have 
some  simple  ones,  which  I  hope  to  get  home  safely. 
The  prettiest  thing  was  the  procession,  three  times 
round  the  Sepulchre.  The  bishop,  the  chaunting 
boys,  the  priests  and  monks,  the  princesses,  the  trav- 
ellers, all  swept  round  the  big  church  three  times, 
carrying  little  candles;  but  preceded  by  a  company 
of  Turkish  soldiers  and  our  friend,  the  Colonel,  who 
coffeed  us  the  other  day,  you  know.  He  was  lashing 
round  with  his  Courbash  (rhinoceros  whip)  and 
keeping  the  Christians  in  order.  'About  then  the 
Greeks  began  to  ebullish;  having  got  through  their 
service  they  naturally  did  n't  want  to  stay  any  longer. 
Besides,  though  the  Latins  own  the  spot  of  the  Sepul- 
chre, the  Greeks  have  a  right  to  a  third  of  it,  and  to 
finish  their  ceremony  before  it,  it  required  all  the 
Colonel's  vigilance  and  a  big  bench  set  across  the 
little  door  (aided  by  a  stout  man  who  sate  down  on 
it  inadvertently),  to  keep  the  Greeks  back  till  the 
Latins  were  through ;  I  think  they  were  a  little  slow 
on  purpose.  These  carefully  put  out  their  big  can- 
dles, and  the  little  ones  which  belonged  to  them,  on 


TO  EGYPT  AND  THE  HOLY  LAND  49 

the  altar.  The  Greek  "Fullums"  were  lighting 
theirs  as  we  came  away.  ...  I  haven't  given  an 
idea  of  the  immense  crowd  of  spectators  of  all  na- 
tions who  squeezed  us,  but  we  had  excellent  places, 
thanks  to  Finkenstein  and  Charles's  prowess. 

It  was  n't  eight  o'clock  when  we  came  back  to  the 
hotel.  The  baggage  was  to  be  packed  to  go  before 
us,  as  we  were  to  start  in  the  P.  M.  After  this  Luc. 
and  Charley  with  Mr.  Lawrence  went  to  church,  but 
I  took  to  my  bed,  and  got  a  good  sleep. 

Up  to  this  time  the  weather  had  been  fiendish,  like 
our  spring  weather;  almost  all  the  campers  round 
Jerusalem  had  been  driven  to  the  hotel  —  in  fact, 
most  of  their  tents  blew  down.  But  we  were  all 
ready  to  start,  and  hoped  for  the  best;  the  sun  came 
out,  and  Finkenstein  said  the  wind  had  changed. 
We  got  off  about  three-thirty,  and  have  had  lovely 
weather  ever  since  —  cold  at  first,  but  now  hot.  We 
started  all  on  horses  through  the  Damascus  Gate,  as 
thus.  First  a  Bedouin,  just  like  a  picture  of  one  in 
a  Geography,  his  gun  across  his  shoul- 
ders, then  Arthur  Lawrence,  I,  Lu- 
cretia,  Hassan,  Charles,  and  a  "  mule- 
teer" (on  a  horse),  carrying  lunch, 
shawls  and  other  trifles.  I  mention 
our  party  in  the  order  we  are  apt  to 
take  according  to  the  fleetness,  or  I 
might  better  say  the  slowness  of  our  steeds.  We 
started  Sunday  afternoon  to  go  only  a  short  distance 
to  break  the  journey  of  Monday ;  so  after  riding  about 
two  hours  we  found  ourselves  at  Solomon's  Pools. 
We  saw  this  old  battlemented  ruin  from  the  top  of 
a  hill,  and  when  we  got  to  it,  turning  sharp  round 
the  corner,  found  our  tents  already  pitched,  and 
smoke  rising  from  the  cook-stove,  for  you  must  know 
that  our  Gentlemanly  Cook,  a  decayed  baron  (as  we 
are  convinced),  engaged  for  this  occasion,  goes  before 


50          LETTEKS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

always  with  the  baggage-train,  which  consists  of 
three  horses,  two  mules  and  two  donkeys,  with  four 
men,  I  believe ;  I  don't  clearly  know.  They  get  mat- 
ters in  readiness  by  the  time  we  arrive. 

This  was  the  loveliest  spot.  We  gave  shouts  of 
joy,  and  jumped  blithely  from  our  horses.  A  lovely 
valley  with  hills  notching  down  towards  the  horizon, 
in  front  three  broad  square  pools  —  artificial,  and 
"evidently  of  great  antiquity,  although  not  men- 
tioned in  the  Old  Testament  or  by  Josephus."  They 
think  they  conveyed  water  to  Jerusalem.  Anyhow 
the  moonlight  and  twilight  on  the  water  was  deli- 
cious. But  I  must  tell  you  it  was  awful  cold,  and 
the  ground  actually  muddy  from  the  recent  rains. 
We  pampered  Egyptians  have  felt  nothing  like  it  all 
winter,  though  you  Americans  might  have  called  it 
mild.  Arthur  Lawrence  and  I  tore  back  and  forth 
to  restore  circulation,  and  in  fact  succeeded  by  the 
time  Hassan  brought  steaming  soup  into  the  tent. 
C.  and  Arthur  L.  have  one  tent  which  is  also  salle  a 
manger;  Luc.  and  I  share  another ;  and  in  the  third, 
which  is  apple-green  in  colour,  all  the  cooks  and 
bottle-washers  abide.  We  have  excellent  feed,  six  or 
seven  courses,  elegantly  served  in  Hassan's  best  style. 
As  it  was  too  cold  to  sit  up,  we  forthwith  went  to 
bed,  and  I  may  say  quaked  for  some  time  —  although 
we  had  lots  of  coverings,  and  a  snifter  of  brandy  and 
water  on  retiring. 

Tuesday.  —  I  got  up  early,  as  who  would  not  who 
is  camping  ?  —  and  made  a  sketch  of  the  pools  which 
will  be  found  among  the  Archives.  We  had  coffee, 
and  got  started  at  eight-thirty.  Kode  all  day,  stop- 
ping for  lunch  by  the  wayside.  Flowers,  flowers  of 
the  most  bewildering  nature  —  three  sorts  of  or- 
chises! a  thing  that  must  be  Cistus,  or  Ehexia  —  red 
poppies,  and  anemones  a  perfect  drug,  and  cyclamen 
reeking.  We  passed  Rachel's  Tomb,  —  and  the  place 


TO  EGYPT  AND  THE  HOLY  LAND   51 

where  Abraham  was  called  to  kill  Isaac.  Hassan  says 
of  it,  "  Arabs  say,  Here  man,  when  him  asleep,  — 
him  get  up  and  tink  to  kill  him  little  boy."  We  went 
a  long  way  off  the  road  to  see  "  The  Oak  of  Abra- 
ham "  where  he  is  supposed  to  have  entertained  the 
Angels.  It  is  very  old,  —  and  you  can  believe  what 
you  choose.  Looks  like  the  elm  on  the  Common, 
being  "Ilex  Quercus,"  a  fine-leaved  holly,  but  im- 
mense in  girth,  and  spreading  widely.  We  came  into 
Hebron  very  cold  and  tired,  and  Luc.  and  I  didn't 
go  with  the  men  to  see  the  wonders  of  the  town,  which 
are  not  important,  the  associations  being  the  chief 
thing.  The  Hebronites  are  now  a  vile  set.  They 
bought  wine  of  Eshcol,  made  of  grapes  like  that  big 
bunch,  you  know,  and  we  found  it  delicious.  There 
were  English  camping  there  with  whom  we  hob- 
nobbed, but  I  won't  write  about  them  I  think.  So 

Tuesday,  we  struck  our  tents,  and  came  back  over 
the  same  road,  for  to  get  to  Hebron  you  go  south 
a  day  from  Jerusalem,  then  back  on  the  same  track 
to  near  Bethlehem,  for  which  you  diverge.  .  .  .  We 
had  a  lovely  day ;  it  was  warmer  and  the  road  beau- 
tiful, looking  that  way.  We  lunched  by  the  roadside, 
inviting  an  amiable  pedestrian  to  join  us  at  that 
meal,  Eev.  Mr.  Wight  of  England.  He  has  been  in 
Boston,  and  assisted  Rev.  Eastburn.  Arthur  Law- 
rence is  very  lovely.  He  is  studying  to  take  orders, 
—  he  is  especially  pleasant  to  travel  with  here,  being 
unaffectedly  enthusiastic  about  the  Scripture  asso- 
ciations. .  .  . 

We  reached  Bethlehem  early,  in  time  to  visit  the 
Church  of  the  Nativity  which  pleased  us  very  much. 
The  decoration  is  much  simpler,  and  not  so  tawdry 
as  at  Jerusalem,  and  how  genuine  seemed  the  place 
hewn  in  the  rock  where  Christ  was  born,  —  the 
Manger  — and  the  spot  where  the  Magi  stood.  We 
liked  it  very  much.  It  is  a  pity  to  say  so  little  of 


52          LETTERS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

it  here.  We  were  shown  lots  of  other  things  in  the 
same  building,  —  a  church  of  St.  Helena,  —  but  this 
was  all  that  was  very  interesting.  The  town  is  up 
an  immensely  high  hill.  We  climbed  up  on  our 
horses,  and  then  down  paved  streets  exactly  like 
going  downstairs,  and  wound  down  a  long  hillside 
to  our  camp.  Here  we  rejoiced  in  the  delicious  warm 
weather,  and  were  arrived  early  enough  to  bask  about 
before  our  tents. 

Wednesday. — We  came  on  to  Marsaba  a  brief 
excursion  of  three  hours.  Facing  the  Dead  Sea  all 
the  way,  and  through  a  country  of  ghastly  barren- 
ness, crossing  a  mountain-chain  in  fact,  sometimes 
very  high,  sometimes  in  deep  valleys  where  green 
fields  are  growing  —  everywhere  flowers.  Our  camp 
is  very  high,  but  in  a  kind  of  bowl  between  rugged 
hills ;  the  last  part  of  the  way  was  like  the  most  bar- 
ren parts  of  Mount  Washington;  in  one  place,  a 
ridge  between  gulfs  on  either  side.  Arthur  Lawrence 
joined  the  Bruces,  our  English  friends,  to  come  by 
a  longer  way,  seeing  "  the  Frank  Mountain."  They 
have  not  turned  up;  but  their  tents  are  pitched  by 
ours. 


JERUSALEM,  Saturday  A.  M.,  April  11,  1868. 

I  stopped  the  account,  dear  folks, — 

Wednesday,  p.  M.,  at  Marsaba,  I  think.  Now  we 
have  got  back  here,  but  our  pack-horses  have  not  ar- 
rived, so  I  am  writing  with  the  brief  materials 
afforded  by  the  hotel.  Why  brother  Hornstein,  our 
worthy  host,  has  only  mourning  paper,  I  don't  know. 
I  have  cut  it  off  the  edges,  but  you  '11  find  it  in  the 
middle.  Marsaba  was  a  lurid  place,  a  rocky  pass 
with  two  stone  towers  of  the  convent,  and  barren 
hills  humping  up  everywhere.  After  I  stopped  writ- 
ing I  gathered  flowers  and  painted  them.  Arthur 


TO  EGYPT  AND  THE  HOLY  LAND  53 

Lawrence  came  back  with  the  Braces,  and  the  men 
went  to  see  the  inside  of  the  convent  (forbidden  to 
women),  while  Luc.  and  I  philandered  with  Mrs. 
Bruce,  who  is  very  pleasant  and  chatty.  She  sketches 
about  as  much  as  you  do,  Edward,  in  a  very  pleasant 
way,  and  had  her  tumbler  of  water  and  her  paint- 
brush by  her  side,  and  was  just  doing  in  her  sky. 
It  was  rather  rainy,  and  after  dinner  the  clouds  shut 
out  the  moon,  which  kept  trying  to  come  out.  We 
walked  to  a  precipice  overlooking  the  valley,  wonder- 
ful effects  of  gorge  and  chasm  in  the  changing  lights. 
Thursday  was  A  Day  —  to  be  marked  with  a  white 
stone.  We  were  up  really  early  and  in  the  saddle 
by  six-thirty ;  rode  five  hours  to  the  shore  of  the  Dead 
Sea,  a  narrow  path  on  the  side  of  a  gorge,  sometimes 
down  in  the  bottom  of  the  ravine,  sometimes  in  peril- 
ous places  on  a  side  hill,  and  finally  out,  three  hours, 
as  in  this  somewhat  crude  view,  to  a  splendid  view 
of  the  upper  end  of  the  Dead  Sea  with  the  Jordan 
running  into  it!  and  the  Mountains  of  Moab  behind. 
Then,  we  came  down  into  the  flattest  of  valleys,  barren 
and  desolate  beyond  measure,  and  were  tantalised 
by  two  hours  riding  before  we  reached  the  shore. 
But  near  the  water  all  is  lovely,  a  kind  of  pink 
heather  grows-  in  profusion,  and  willow-tufted  shrubs 
and  tall  grasses,  —  and  the  sea  itself  a  lovely  soft 
blue,  plashes  on  the  shore  like  any  New  England 
lake  and  stretches  off  between  lovely  headlands, 
sparkling  and  rippling  in  the  sun,  far  to  the  south. 
I  don't  know  where  the  people  are  that  talk  about 
the  Ghastly  Exhalations  and  all  that.  It  was  a 
fearfully  blazing  hot 
noon  (April  9!).  We 
sent  off  the  horses 
and  had  a  bath  —  delicious !  —  C.  and  Arthur  L. 
at  a  respectful  distance.  Luc.  didn't  venture,  but 
I  had  a  rapturous  time.  Legs  like  this  in  swim- 


54          LETTEKS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

ming  —  and  floating  on  the  back  the  perfection  of 
luxury.  The  water  was  just  cool  enough  to  refresh 
without  chilling,  not  flat  and  tame  like  a  fresh- 
water pond.  We  were  warned  to  keep  it  out  of 
mouth  and  eyes,  and  succeeded  pretty  well,  but  the 
taste  is  fearful.  Kochelle  Powder,  potash,  salt,  mus- 
tard, rotten-eggs,  anything  else  vile  you  can  think 
of.  After  this  we  had  a  long  and  tedious  ride  over 
a  regular  desert,  flat  barren  sand,  with  the  banks  of 
the  Jordan  very  delusive  in  the  distance,  green  but 
far.  Our  two  Bedouin  escorts  darted  off  on  their 
fleet  steeds  after  a  loose  horse  which  they  spent  all 
the  afternoon  in  chasing.  (It  ended  by  his  coming 
into  camp  that  night,  so  they  made  one  horse  by  the 
trip.)  At  last  we  reached  the  Jordan  shore.  A  fast 
whirling  current  with  a  steep  cliff  on  the  opposite 
side,  but  on  ours,  a  flat  muddy  bank,  with  delicious 
trees  and  fresh  spring  verdure,  tall  reeds  and  birds 
in  the  branches.  Just  like  a  New  England  stream 
brawling  along.  We  were  tired  and  very  hot ;  lunch 
was  refreshing;  and  naps  after.  After  a  suitable 

interval  we  (all  but  Luc.)  took  a  bath  in  the  J 

to  counteract  the  Dead  Sea,  for  by  this  time  there 
was  an  uncomfortable  stinging,  sticky  sensation,  and 
our  lips  are  actually  blistered!  The  Jordan  plunge 
was  delicious  —  cooler  than  the  sea  and  cleansing. 
We  had  to  be  very  careful  about  the  current  which 
is  immensely  strong.  You  mustn't  think  we  were 
indifferent  to  its  being  really  the  Jordan  and  no 
other  river.  We  recalled 

"  So  to  the  Jews  old  Canaan  stood 
And  Jordan  rolled  between/' 

Also  "When  we  our  wearied  limbs  to  rest,"  —  but 
found  that  was  the  Euphrates  instead. 

That    night    we    pressed    on,    leaving    the    river, 
to   Kiha,   which   is   Jericho,   and   found   our  camp 


TO  EGYPT  AND  THE  HOLY  LAND  55 

pitched  by  the  Brook  Cherith,  which  was  not  dried 
up,  but  babbling  merrily,  and  the  frogs!  making  a 
prodigious  noise,  like  any  Yankees.  We  forded  the 
stream,  and  found  our  tents  with  mouths  open  ready 
for  us ;  and  the  Bruces  alongside  already  installed. 
Tired  enough  and  glad  of  dinner  and  bed.  Yet  we 
saw  the  moon  over  the  "  Mountain  of  the  Tempta- 
tion" before  we  went  to  sleep. 

Friday  was  our  last  day's  march.  We  came  by 
Ain  es-Suttan,  which  is  the  brook  Elisha  changed 
to  sweet  from  bitter;  and  sweet  it  is  still,  and  up 
through  a  gloomy  mountain-pass,  reaching  Bethany 
in  the  afternoon,  and  at  night-fall  our  camp  just 
below  the  Garden  of  Gethsemane  at  the  foot  of  the 
Mount  of  Olives.  It  was  a  changing  day,  hot  at  first, 
rain  for  a  while,  but  on  the  whole  we  got  very  little 
wetting ;  not  so  many  flowers  as  elsewhere.  The  path 
we  came  is  the  one  Dean  Stanley  thinks  was  the 
triumphal  Palm  Sunday  way.  Jerusalem  is  beauti- 
ful from  that  point.  Even  from  our  beds  in  the  tent 
we  could  see  the  Beautiful  Gate  and  the  wall  of  the 
town.  I  had  a  jolly  gallop  ahead  with  the  Bruces. 
They  are  brother  of  Sir  Frederick,  who  died  at  the 
Tremont  House,  —  and  this  one  is  The  Bruce  of 
Scotland,  now,  whatever  that  may  mean.  They  are 
still  in  their  camp  outside  the  Damascus  Gate. 

This  morning  C.  and  Mr.  Lawrence  went  into  town 
early;  Luc.  and  I  followed  with  Hassan,  on  our 
horses;  and  found  our  same  room  ready  for  us  and 
a  cordial  greeting  from  the  Hotel  Serfs.  It  seems 
quite  homelike.  You  may  have  inferred  there  was 
a  gap  since  the  beginning,  for  sitting  down  to  write 
was  "  the  signal "  as  Susie  Lesley  says,  for  baggage, 
washing,  Charley  and  everything  else  to  arrive. 
Since  then  we  have  lunched  and  napped  and  the 
gentlemen  have  been  to  see  the  "  Greek  Fire  "  at  the 
Holy  Sepulchre,  which  we  did  n't  attempt  on  account 


56          LETTERS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

of  the  crush.  They  have  got  back  after  great  success 
with  all  their  limbs  and  even  garments  whole;  sur- 
rounded by  cawasses  they  kept  a  good  place,  and  saw 
the  ceremony.  I  won't  write  at  second-hand,  hoping 
Charley  will  himself;  if  not,  I  can  tell  when  we 
meet.  .  .  .  Seems  lots  of  people  are  here,  camping 
or  otherwise,  dear  Mr.  de  Lex,  Rev.  Mr.  Davis,  Rev. 
Lansing,  the  Charles  Amorys ;  —  all  these  are  our 
bosom  friends.  I  heard  Lord  Ruthven  sneezing  in 
the  next  room  just  now,  and  Lord  and  Lady  Francis 
Conyngham  have  No.  10. 

Sunday  morning.  —  Vague  and  mysterious  signs 
seem  to  indicate  a  mail,  so  I  will  get  this  off  while 
Luc.  is  preparing  for  church.  At  dawn  I  heard  all 
kinds  of  bells  ringing  and  remembered  it  was  Easter 
in  Jerusalem!  .  .  . 


To  Miss  ANNIE  ATKINSON 
(LATER  MBS.  RICHARD  M.  STAIGG) 

JERUSALEM,  Easter,  1868. 

DEAR  ANNIE,  —  I  woke  up  just  at  daylight  this 
morning,  and  heard  all  kinds  of  bells  ushering  in 
Easter;  the  streets  were  full  of  jabbering  Moslems 
and  shuffling  footsteps.  I  thought  of  you  all  at 
home,  and  wondered  who  was  dressing  the  church, 
and  remembered  the  way  the  lovely  flowers  smell  as 
we  are  arranging  them.  Is  it  not  strange  to  be  here 
on  this  day?  Yet  there  are  so  many  un-Christian 
influences,  and  the  so-called  Christian  ones  are  so 
far  from  our  faith,  that  one  might  better  be  in  the 
middle  of  a  desert.  But  for  all  that,  it  is  Jerusalem, 
the  very  scene  with  the  very  hills  looking  down  on 
it,  where  Christ  "  rose  from  the  dead." 

In  the  afternoon  we  walked  out  to  Bethany,  over 
the  Mount  of  Olives,  and,  for  ourselves,  imagined 


TO  EGYPT  AND  THE  HOLY  LAND  57 

where  might  be  the  spot  where  the  disciple  met  the 
Angel  who  said,  "  Ye  men  of  Israel,"  or,  "  He  is 
not  here,  but  risen,"  I  don't  remember  just  the 
words.  You  can't  think  how  real  and  vivid  it  makes 
the  whole  story  to  be  in  the  very  neighbourhood ;  the 
only  wonder  is  that  eighteen  hundred  years  should 
have  passed  and  left  so  much  as  it  was  then.  It 
might  have  happened  yesterday.  We  passed  a  great 
flock  of  sheep  following  their  shepherd,  chirruping 
to  them  and  calling  them  along  after  him ;  "  for  they 
know  his  voice."  There  are  no  roads  for  carts,  and 
no  wheeled  vehicles  at  all,  only  foot-paths  with  the 
people  straying  along  by  the  fig  trees  and  olive  trees, 
and  "the  lilies  of  the  field." 

April  15. 

I  have  been  interrupted,  dear  Annie,  and  now  we 
are  all  packed  and  ready  for  the  start  (on  horses) 
for  Jaffa  and  back  to  Alexandria.  We  have  been 
to  Hebron  and  the  Jordan,  and  bathed  in  the  Dead 
Sea  (it  was  splendid!),  and  to  Bethlehem  and  Jeri- 
cho. There  have  been  plans  of  going  to  Nazareth 
and  the  Sea  of  Galilee  and  even  to  Damascus,  but 
Luc.  is  n't  quite  up  to  so  much  horse,  and  though  I 
rather  hanker  after  these  places,  I  'm  delighted  to 
have  done  so  much,  and  besides  I  believe  it  makes 
us  sooner  home. 

I  got  your  letter  just  before  this  trip.  I  'm  very 
glad  to  hear  that  Martha's  engagement  is  really  out. 
It  strikes  me  Margy  and  I  don't  deserve  your  praise 
for  our  reticence.  We  were  bursting  with  curiosity 
all  summer,  and  if  we  didn't  pump  you,  it  must 
have  been  on  account  of  your  extreme  piclcet-fenci- 
tude,  if  you  '11  excuse  the  expression.  Give  my  love 
to  Martha,  and  tell  her  I  wish  her  all  manner  of 
happiness,  and  moreover  congratulate  her  on  being 
outside  the  Schoolmarm  Phalanx.  Now  don't  re- 


58  LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

sent  this,  my  dear.  It's  all  very  well  for  you  and 
me,  but  for  these  young  and  fragile  blossoms  I  think 
highly  of  the  Haven  of  Matrimony. 

Truly  yours, 
SUSIE  HALE. 

To  THE  HALE  FAMILY 

ALEXANDRIA,  May  21,  1868. 
.  .  .  Now  you  know  I  've  long  wanted  to  ride  a 
camel,  in  fact  was  almost  afraid  to  come  home  with- 
out. They  said,  oh  well,  I  could  try  it  then;  and 
Hassan  was  directed  to  "  call  one  of  those  Bedouins 
with  his  camels."  So  this  procession  was  led  up  to 
the  front  of  the  piazza.  They  were  coming  from 
carrying  a  load  of  stone,  —  empty.  They  unhitched 
this  middle  one,  made  him  kneel  down,  and  I  got 
up.  When  he  was  kneeling,  stomach  to  the  ground, 
it  was  as  high  a  boost  as  mounting  a  donkey.  Then 
the  Awful  Thing  began  to  undo  his  legs,  and  up,  up, 
I  went,  and  found  myself  flying  over  the  country  at 
a  rattling  pace,  camel-man,  Hassan,  Virnard,  all  run- 
ning to  keep  up.  "  Don't  go  so  fast,  'stanne  bess- 
wesh !  "  I  cried.  They  slackened  up  a  few  minutes, 
but  the  beast  wanted  to  go ;  I  think  the  man  wanted 
to  show  him  off ;  and  Hassan  wanted  to  show  me  off. 
It  was  really  frightful.  The  hardest  jouncingest  old 
cart-horse  you  ever  were  on  is  a  cow  to  the  motion. 
You  know  this  was  a  pack-camel,  not  a  trained  drome- 
dary. Besides,  they  generally  have  saddles  with  a 
pommel.  I  was  sitting  with  my  feet  before  me  on 
a  sort  of  hurdle.  My  back  hair  came  down;  I  had 
to  hold  that  on,  and  cling  to  this  rope-work  at  once. 
Suddenly,  going  very  fast,  the  critter  swerved  round 
a  corner  *  *  *  My  head  came  down  pretty  hard  on 
the  sand,  and  it  seemed  a  good  while  since  I  left  the 
top  of  the  camel  before  I  felt  a  crash  like  cracking 


TO  EGYPT  AND  THE  HOLY  LAND  59 


60  LETTEES   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

a  cocoanut  with  a  hammer.  Virnard  rushed  to  lift 
me  —  no  harm  done,  no  bones  broken  (but  bruised 
the  meat).  I  was  lying  supported  by  V.  in  a  pictur- 
esque attitude,  the  camel  meekly  standing  by  with 
two  or  three  breadths  of  my  dress  (luckily)  hanging 
to  him  —  and  everybody  rushing  for  restoratives. 
Hassan  as  pale  as  the  accident  of  his  complexion 


allows.  Well,  I  'm  very  glad  I  've  been  to  ride  on 
a  camel,  and  I  don't  care  to  do  it  again.  But  then 
a  regular  dromedary  would  be  different.  I  really 
wasn't  even  faint,  only  stunned  rather,  and  bewil- 
dered. They  all  "  muched  "  me,  and  I  was  a  heroine, 
and  lay  on  a  couch  with  Cologne  and  Sherry  and  all 
that,  not  at  all  in  my  line.  A  woman  from  a  neigh- 
bour was  got  over  to  sew  up  my  gown.  It  took  her 
an  hour  and  a  half,  —  by  which  time,  after  after- 
noon tea  and  more  talk,  it  was  time  for  us  to  take 
the  five-thirty  return  train.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER   III 

TEACHING   SCHOOL   IN   BOSTON 
(1871-1872) 

To  CHARLES  HALE 

91  BoYLSTON  STREET,  Monday  evening, 
February  00,  1871. 

DEAR  CHARLEY,  —  You  must  know  that  I  have 
agreed  to  edit  the  newspaper  of  the  French  Fair, 
which  is  to  come  off  here  April  10.  There  will  be 
six  daily  numbers.  Think  of  my  getting  into  an 
Editorial  chair!  I  wrote  to  Emma  to  put  her  up 
to  collecting  me  some  trifles  of  a  foreign  nature,  and 
I  hope  you  will  feel  like  sending  me  cuttings  from 
papers  not  likely  to  reach  here,  and  that,  perhaps, 
you  will  write  something  —  with  the  flavour  of  your 
chapters  of  our  Nile  novel,  for  example.  I  don't 
mean  to  write  at  all  myself  if  I  can  help  it,  that  is, 
to  speak  of,  but  to  inspire  all  the  distinguished  to 
write.  I  have  just  been  to  see  Dan  Curtis  and  Mrs. 
about  it,  and  they  are  very  cordial,  and  promise  to 
be  as  funny  as  they  can.  But  of  course  the  danger 
is  that  all  outsiders  will  leave  me  in  the  lurch  at  the 
last  moment.  I  enclose  a  "  circular  "  with  particulars. 

Now  I  want  to  tell  you  that  the  other  evening  I 
met  your  friend  Howells  for  the  first  time.  I  have 
called  on  Mrs.  H.  once  or  twice  but  always  missed 
her.  He  has  promised  me  "  something "  for  my 
newspaper.  There  is  a  great  upheaving  for  this  fair, 
and  everybody  has  got  a  table  or  an  album  or  a  col- 


62  LETTERS    OF   SUSAN   HALE 

lection  of  some  sort,  and  theatricals  and  private  con- 
certs have  already  been  given  to  swell  the  proceeds. 

Truly  yours, 

SUSIE. 

HISTORY  OF  A  LONG  DAY 
(FoR  You  AND  ANNIE) 
BOSTON,  Sunday,  March  19,  1871. 

This  day  has  been  so  long  that  it  seems  exactly  as 
if  there  had  never  been  any  other  day;  the  annals 
of  my  former  life  are  like  the  evidences  of  a  pre- 
existent  state.  I  have  a  general  impression  of  being 
born  of  poor  but  honest  parents ;  vague  reminiscences 
of  a  happy  childhood,  dim  recollections  after  the 
varied  experiences  mixed  of  joy  and  sorrow,  com- 
mon to  any  life,  of  settling  down  as  a  respectable 
spinster  into  a  solitary  life;  and  at  this  point  it  is 
that  opens  my  Tale  of  To-day. 

The  house  was  perfectly  tranquil,  for  it  was, — 
and  is !  —  Sunday.  At  quarter  of  nine  I  was  going 
upstairs  to  my  bath  with  the  loitering  step  fitted  for 
a  day  of  utter  leisure,  when  the  door-bell  rang. 
Strange  sound  on  Sunday.  I  pause  upon  the  stairs, 
with  three  towels  over  my  arm,  and  soap  and  sponge 
in  my  hands,  "  Well,  Eebecca  ? " 

"  A  note  for  you,  Mann." 

"  Thunder !  "  Meanwhile  I  have  been  reading  the 
note.  It  is  from  Mrs.  Hunt,  who  expects  me  to  be 
ready,  at  her  house,  at  ten  o'clock  to  drive  to  Milton 
to  spend  the  day. 

L;  is  true  that  something  had  been  said  about  it 
ten  days  ago,  but  I  had  clean  forgotten;  otherwise 
I  should  have  invented  an  excuse.  But  now  I  am 
at  bay.  The  day  is  perfect ;  a  cloudless  sky,  a  balmy 
air,  and  the  man  waits  below. 

"  Very  well,  there  is  no  answer." 


TEACHING   SCHOOL   IN   BOSTON     63 

And  no  hope.  I  look  through  the  begrimmed  win- 
dow of  the  bath-room,  but  there  is  no  cloud  not  so 
big  as  your  hand ;  so  I  must  go. 

Which  very  considerably  changes  the  Programme. 
There  must  be  a  rapid  .bath,  and  no  soap;  a  hurried 
concoction  of  coffee,  a  hasty  mastication  of  sausage, 
and  a  hurried  donning  of  one  blue  and  green  costume 
bought  upon  the  Boulevards  in  1867.  The  elbows 
are  through;  and  there  is  mud  upon  the  petticoat. 
But  at  twenty  minutes  of  ten,  I  stand  at  my  open 
front  window ;  and  brush  off  the  mud  from  the  petti- 
coat while  waiting  for  that  car. 

That  car  (naturellement}  never  comes.  At  five 
minutes  of  ten  I  accept  the  alternative  of  pedestrian 
locomotion,  and  rush  off,  after  a  tender  farewell  to 
the  cat  and  ample  directions  to  Kebecca,  on  foot. 

And  I  am  glad  of  it,  —  for  at  the  junction  of 
Clarendon  and  Commonwealth,  voila!  Mr.  Appleton, 
with  the  new  dog,  whose  tail  is  curled  up  very  tight 
behind,  and  whose  name  is  Pop. 

So  we  walked  out  together  to  Mrs.  Hunt's.  At 
the  Hunt's  door  he  left  me,  and  Mr.  Hunt  took  me 
up.  I  need  not  have  hurried  or  worried.  Nothing 
was  ready ;  Mr.  Hunt,  in  slippers,  came  to  the  door, 
and  Mrs.  Hunt  was  nowhere.  Bay  came  forward, 
weeping,  in  her  best  blue  silk,  having  fallen  down 
in  a  bed  of  clay,  and  expecting  a  scolding.  My  ap- 
pearance averted  this  otherwise  inevitable  conse- 
quence, and  she  retired  to  resume  the  same  amuse- 
ment under  a  mild  reproof.  I  went  to  the  piano  and 
tried  new  music;  and  in  the  intervals  of  a  cigar. 
Mr.  Hunt  came  and  talked. 

At  quarter  of  eleven,  mirabile  dictu,  we  were  in 
the  carriage  and  off.  The  children  were  suppressed : 
i.  e.,  left  at  home  with  Anna.  Mr.  Hunt  drove,  with 
Mike,  in  front;  Mrs.  Hunt  and  I  were  behind.  .  .  . 
We  talked,  and  most  pleasantly,  and  she  had  a  roll 


64  LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

of  old  Mss.  to  read,  in  order  to  see  if  they  would 
do  for  "Balloon-Post";  and  most  of  tkem  will, 
admirably. 

We  drove  round  by  Mrs.  Sam  Putnam's  (some 
miles  out  of  the  way),  because  Mrs.  Hunt  had  a 
message  for  her  from  Mrs.  Julia  Howe.  While  she 
went  in  to  deliver  it,  Mr.  Hunt  rushed  the  horses 
up  a  steep,  grassy  slope,  and  through  a  winding 
woodland  to  show  me  the  lovely  place,  which  by  the 
way  has  just  been  sold,  and  Mrs.  Putnam  and 
Georgina  are  coming  to  town.  What  a  sacrifice! 
When  we  got  back  to  the  door,  nothing  would  do 
but  that  I  should  alight  to  see  the  lovely  old  house; 
and  after  that,  we  settled  down  in  the  dining-room, 
and  were  introduced  to  the  eldest  Miss  Weston  (of 
the  Chapman  variety).  .  .  .  Mrs.  Putnam  is  in- 
tensely French;  she  talked  and  talked  well  for  half 
an  hour  on  French  politics;  and  we  all  sate  there, 
rooted,  to  listen  to  her,  as  if  that  were  the  object  of 
the  expedition,  and,  in  fact,  of  all  life.  Finally  Wil- 
liam, desperate,  tore  us  away  with  an  authority  he 
rarely  uses;  and  we  were  once  more  on  the  road 
again. 

I  don't  pretend  to  say  what  time  it  was  when  we 
arrived  at  "the  Farm,"  nor  to  describe  the  loveli- 
ness of  day  and  of  scene. 

We  went  at  once  to  the  house,  and  "William" 
hastily  unpacking  the  dinner  baskets  seized  hunches 
of  cold  veal  and  bread,  and  rushed  off  at  once  to 
Readville  to  see  a  horse.  Mrs.  Hunt  and  I  concluded 
we  were  not  hungry,  and  started  off  to  see  the  place. 

It  was  a  lovely  day,  perfectly  warm  and  soft;  and 
a  perfect  delight  to  wander  about  and  see  the  points 
of  view,  and  hear  the  birds,  and  pick  willow  pussies. 
We  invaded  the  farm-house,  and  embarrassed  the 
inhabitants,  and  then  came  back  to  the  house,  and 
proceeded  to  get  lunch.  I  took  the  helm;  ordered 


TEACHING   SCHOOL   IN   BOSTON     65 

"  Mike  "  to  bring  hot  water,  seized  the  gridiron  and 
broiled  the  beef -steak  on  a  lovely  fire  of  logs  already 
piled  up  on  the  hearth.  Mrs.  Hunt  was  delighted, 
and  confessed  she  needed  a  guardian.  We  had  nice 
tea,  delicious  cream,  and  fresh  eggs ;  I  may  add,  an 
admirable  steak,  though  my  first. 

Just  as  we  were  getting  through,  Judge  Gray  ap- 
peared, on  horseback.  While  he  was  putting  away 
his  horse,  we  hastily  cleared  the  table,  and  set  it 
again  for  him.  I  never  saw  a  man  eat  so  much.  He 
devoured  everything,  so  that  nothing  was  left  for 
Mr.  Hunt. 

By  and  by  Mr.  Hunt  returned.  He  took  Judge 
Gray  off  to  smoke,  and  Mrs.  H.  carried  me  to  see 
the  upper  rooms.  Finally  I  left  her  at  the  top  of 
the  house  immersed  in  trunks ;  and  escaped  from  my 
keepers  found  a  lovely  spot  where  I  lay  upon  my 
back  under  a  pine-tree,  looked  at  the  blue  sky,  and 
heard  the  birds.  It  was  delicious;  perfectly  warm 
in  the  sunshine. 

Now  came  the  indefatigable  hostess,  and  we  started 
for  another  tour,  passing  the  gentlemen  who  smoked 
in  a  sunny  dell.  The  idea  seized  Mrs.  H.  to  go  across 
to  the  Brush  Hill  turnpike  and  call  upon  one  (Mr. 
Foster,  who  has  a  conservatory;  as  we  walked  she 
told  me  his  history.  It  is  a  good  half  mile  over  walls, 
up  and  down  hill,  but  very  pretty.  When  we  reached 
the  house,  Mr.  Foster  was  out;  but  we  went  in  and 
saw  the  greenhouse ;  —  in  it  a  wonderful  red  passion- 
flower, and  our  dear  pink  cyclamen.  After  this  we 
called  on  another  neighbour,  Mrs.  Greene,  a  lovely 
lady,  very  handsome,  of  about  sixty  summers;  and 
here  we  fell  into  a  long  discussion  of  Heaven  and  the 
future  state,  which  was  really  interesting,  but  so 
oddly  placed.  By  this  time,  I  began  to  feel  like  one 
who  dreamed. 

Tearing  ourselves  away  we  climbed  again  the  hills 


66          LETTEKS   OF   SUSAN  KALE 

towards  home;  and  were  by  and  by  met  by  a  little 
boy  who  said  that  Misses  Margaret  and  Fanny  Forbes 
were  waiting  for  us  at  the  house.  No  explanation 
of  this  boy  has  ever  been  offered;  but  I  felt  quite 
intimate  with  him  by  the  time  we  got  back. 

I  am  always  delighted  with  these  ladies ;  we  went 
into  the  house  to  entertain  them,  and  I  talked,  for 
about  this  time  Mrs.  Hunt  became  distraite.  "Wil- 
liam "  came  in  ravenous,  and  the  man  from  the  barn 
brought  him  up  a  huge  slice  of  rare  beef,  laid,  sand- 
wich fashion,  on  a  slice  of  bread,  which  he  devoured ; 
and  talked. 

Misses  Forbes  urged  us  to  come  to  their  house,  es- 
pecially as  they  wanted  me  to  see  all  Fanny  Cunning- 
ham's sketches  of  which  they  have  possession  for  a 
few  days.  At  last  Mrs.  Hunt  said,  "  Well,  you  take 
Susie  home  with  you,  and  William  and  I  will  come 
by  and  by." 

Thus  I  found  myself  transferred  to  the  back  seat 
of  the  Forbes  Chariot,  "the  boy"  being  left  with 
the  Hunts  as  a  kind  of  hostage.  We  talked,  heaven 
knows  what,  things  brilliant,  let  us  hope ;  and  by  and 
by  arrived  at  their  dear  house.  Here  I  was  permitted 
warm  water  and  a  comb  and  brush,  and  pulled  to- 
gether as  well  as  I  could  the  holes  in  my  elbows. 
Miss  Fanny  and  I  walked  well  over  this  place,  and 
then  I  looked  at  a  lot  of  sketches,  all  delightful,  by 
Mrs.  Edw.  Cunningham,  taken  chiefly  in  Mongolia! 
and  Japan. 

By  this,  the  sun  had  begun  to  set;  a  thing  I  had 
ceased  to  believe  possible  to  it,  and  we  watched  its 
gorgeous  departure,  while  I  told  them  about  Bret 
Harte. 

The  Hunts  arrived.  We  had  a  sweet  tea  of  ex- 
quisite materials,  with  a  napkin  across  the  loaf. 
Then  came  prolonged  partings;  and  we  found  our- 
selves in  the  carriage.  It  was  dark,  and  one  of  the 


TEACHING   SCHOOL   IN   BOSTON      67 

near  hills  was  brilliant  with  a  conflagration  of  burn- 
ing brush. 

Mrs.  Hunt  now  roused  up  to  delightful  eloquence. 
We  talked  steadily  all  the  way  to  town,  and  she  was 
really  enchanting. 

We  stopped  at  their  house,  for  the  horses  (  !)  were 
tired.  We  went  upstairs.  The  servants  were  warned 
to  inform  us  when  a  car  came;  it  was  not  long,  and 
sweet  Mr.  Hunt  hurried  me  into  it. 

"  How  soon  do  you  start  ? "  "  Eleven  min- 
utes." .  .  . 

Here  I  am,  and  here's  the  cat,  and  nothing  has 
happened.  I  've  lighted  the  fire  and  fed  Sir  Charles, 
and  written  you  this ;  and  now  for  the  first  time  am 
prepared  to  mention  the  time.  'Tis  ten  o'clock  — 
just  twelve  hours  since  the  start. 

To  CHAELES  HALE 

91  BOYLSTON  STREET,  March  26,  1871. 
DEAR  CHARLEY,  —  I  have  just  got  your  splendidly 
co-operative  letter  about  "  Balloon-Post "  and  hasten 
to  thank  you.  I  hope  "  things  "  are  on  the  way  from 
you,  and  feel  abject  that  I  haven't  written  oftener 
to  keep  your  fire  bright.  It  would  be  too  bad,  were 
it  not  that  I  am  so  intensely  busy  with  the  paper  and 
its  involutions,  though  'tis  very  good  fun.  People 
are  most  flattering  about  my  undertaking  it,  and  sub- 
scribers pour  in  for  the  whole  set,  and  lots  of  writers 
have  been  most  cordial  in  contributing,  so  really  I 
think  it  will  be  good.  I  shall  take  pride  in  mailing 
you  the  numbers,  and  long  to  hear  your  comments. 
I  set  to  work  by  writing  to,  or  attacking  personally 
all  the  people  in  the  world  I  could  think  of,  either 
distinguished  or  otherwise,  who  would  write  well; 
the  results  are  constant  arrivals  of  articles;  some,  of 
course,  very  poor,  but  some,  very  nice.  Luc.  is  writ- 


68  LETTEKS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

ing  a  series  of  imitations  of  Charles  Eeade  and  other 
authors,  which  will  be  very  nice.-  The  "Charles 
Reade"  is  delicious;  I  shall  put  it  in  the  first 
number. 

The  bother  of  all  such  things  is  the  side  issues, 
which  you  never  think  of  beforehand.  First  there 
was  a  row  because  the  Latin-School  boys  wanted  to 
edit  the  paper;  and  then  wanted  to  have  one  of  their 
own  besides.  The  committee  very  properly  sup- 
pressed this;  but  the  boys  had  to  be  interviewed. 
Then  there  was  a  fearful  time  about  the  head  of 
Louis  Napoleon  which  perhaps  you  noticed  in  the 
Daily.  But  the  worst  was  in  the  Transcript;  a  fool- 
ish report  got  about  that  "Balloon-Post"  was  an 
Imperialistic  organ!  and  such  a  tempest  in  the  tea- 
pot arose!  I  had  to  fly  round  and  write  things  for 
Daily  and  Transcript,  and  contradict  and  deny  till 
I  was  most  dead.  People  have  not  yet  done  saying, 
"  Miss  Hale,  is  it  true  that  you  mean  to  have  Louis 
Napoleon,"  etc.,  etc.  I  got  pretty  mad  about  that. 
Then,  now,  there  has  been  a  good  deal  of  light  skir- 
mishing about  my  stall  at  the  fair.  Of  course  I  must 
have  a  place  there  to  sell  the  paper;  and  an  impres- 
sion has  obtained  that  it  will  be  a  very  pleasant  ren- 
dezvous, quite  a  feature  of  the  fair.  Mrs.  Wm.  Hunt 
is  to  help  me,  and  Mrs.  Brooks  and  various  attractive 
people.  Now  your  friend,  Charley  Loring,  is  the 
man  who  arranges  all  the  tables,  etc.,  on  the  floor. 
How  did  you  like  him  in  Egypt,  by  the  way?  He 
appears  to  me  as  obstinate  as  a  mule ;  and  having  a 
fixed  idea  about  my  table  which  only  gave  room  for 
two  people,  he  held  to  it  persistently.  I  was  per- 
fectly meek,  and  yielded  gracefully,  when  lo !  he  came 
round,  and,  somewhat  gloomily,  has  given  me  the 
very  best  place  in  the  middle  of  the  theatre,  where 
everybody  must  pass,  going  to  and  fro;  and  all  will 
be  likely  to  pay  toll  in  the  shape  of  buying  a  number 


TEACHING   SCHOOL   IN   BOSTON     69 

of  "  Balloon-Post."  All  this  takes  a  huge  amount  of 
talking  and  writing.  Oh!  and  I  forgot  the  time  I 
had  about  the  vignette  at  the  top ;  getting  Win.  Hunt 
to  design  it,  and  Mr.  Anthony  to  engrave  it,  which 
Mr.  Anthony  said  he  would  first,  and  afterwards 
wrote  a  civil  note,  and  said  he  would  n't.  He  is  the 
head  wood  engraver  of  the  Fields  and  Osgood  firm, 
and  I  flew  at  once  to  their  shop,  "  interviewed  "  Mr. 
Osgood  to  such  effect,  that  he  remonstrated  with  the 
recusant  Anthony,  and  brought  him  to  terms.  That 
was  a  great  piece  of  prowess. 

The  other  evening  I  met  Mr.  R.  W.  Emerson,  and 
he  promised  me  an  original  little  poem.  Won't  that 
be  nice?  Bret  Harte  promised  me  something,  but 
it  don't  yet  turn  up.  However,  there  is  yet  a  good 
deal  of  time. 

In  all  these  trials  J.  Davis  is  very  devoted,  and  an 
admirable  adviser.  Charley  Chase  will  only  arrive 
on  the  scene  the  week  of  the  fair ;  but  he  is  so  reliable 
that  we  can  rest  calm  in  his  behalf. 

You  see  I  am  quite  absorbed  in  my  paper,  but  I 
know  you'll  be  interested.  I  wish  you  were  going 
to  be  here ;  for  although  I  shall  be  tired  and  doggled 
I  expect  to  have  a  good  deal  of  fun  out  of  it. 

I  hankered  a  little  after  the  Novel  of  the  Nile  for 
my  paper;  but  it  is  really  so  long  and  so  impossible 
to  abstract  or  condense,  I  think  I  won't  try.  People 
will  rather  expect  something  oriental  of  me,  but  I 
have  really  written  nothing  myself  for  the  paper,  I  've 
been  so  busy  with  these  other  details. 

.Very  truly  yours, 

SUSIE. 


70          LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 


To  CHARLES  HALB 

91  BOYLSTON  STREET,  Friday  evening, 

May  19,  1871. 

DEAR  CHARLEY,  —  I  have  volumes  to  write  to  you, 
but  no  time  and  backbone  since  the  fair,  which  pretty 
nearly  used  me  up,  and  I  took  to  my  bed  after  it  at 
such  intervals  as  I  could.  I  'm  delighted  you  are 
pleased  with  "  B.-P.,"  and  long  to  hear  your  separate 
comments.  Your  first  expression  " '  Balloon-Post '  is 
superb,"  was  balm  to  my  soul.  Are  not  Lucretia's 
things  capital  ?  It  was  tremendous  work,  and  I  had 
to  be  very  sharp  about  it,  for  you  see,  in  addition  to 
the  editing,  there  was  the  selling,  down  at  the  fair; 
and  all  the  threads  in  my  hands;  people  pestering 
with  their  articles ;  subscribers  complaining  that  they 
didn't  get  their  papers,  and  so  on.  But  Charley 
Chase  was  splendid.  What  a  cormorant  a  daily 
paper  is!  It  gobbled  up  all  the  stuff  I  had,  though 
I  thought  I  had  enough  for  a  month.  One  reason 
was  that  the  "  Committee  "  on  advertisements  rather 
flashed  in  the  pan,  so  that  we  didn't  have  half  what 
we  ought  to,  to  pay,  but  that  made  the  reading  all  the 
better.  C.  Chase  went  to  Worcester  every  night :  and 
every  morning  alighting  at  the  "  Know  Xothing " 
station  down  here  on  Dartmouth  Street,  stopped  here 
at  nine  o'clock  for  a  conference.  I  rose  daily  betimes 
to  write  my  leader,  and  had  it  ready  for  him ;  I  could 
tell  by  a  grim  smile  on  his  face  whether  he  approved 
of  my  nights.  Then  I  gave  him  all  the  pabulum  I. 
had  for  the  evening  number ;  this  was  pretty  much  all 
collected  before  the  week  began,  subject  to  altera- 
tions and  new  arrivals  of  stuff.  Then  he  carried  off 
all  this,  and  repaired  to  the  printing-office.  Thus  you 
see  that  he  had  all  the  charge  of  arranging  the  order 
of  articles;  and,  indeed,  in  some  respects,  didn't 


TEACHING   SCHOOL   IN   BOSTON     71 

exactly  carry  out  my  views;  but  this  of  course  was 
to  be  expected.  Meantime  I  got  through  school,  and 
as  soon  as  might  be,  repaired  to  the  fair  where  my 
affairs  were  attended  to  by  five  other  ladies  and  my- 
self. At  about  four-thirty  or  thereabouts,  C.  Chase 
would  turn  up  at  the  fair  to  announce  that  the  num- 
ber was  all  right;  and  at  six,  grimy  little  office  boys 
rushed  in  with  great  bundles  of  the  fresh  number, 
eagerly  pounced  on  by  people  waiting  round  till  it 
should  come,  and  by  our  little  news-boys  (Arthur, 
Johnny  Homans,  etc.),  who  seized  them  to  sell  about 
the  Hall.  It  was  very  popular  and  quite  the  success 
of  the  fair,  for  everybody  had  to  have  it,  of  course, 
good  or  bad;  and  then  everybody  took  it  for  granted 
't  would  be  good.  Ah !  't  was  a  great  heik !  and  glad 
was  I,  and  nearly  dead,  too,  when  'twas  over. 

Now  what  do  you  think?  The  success  of  "  B.-P." 
made  such  an  eclat  that  Button  of  the  Transcript  has 
engaged  me  to  write  for  Tranny!!  at  $1,000  per 
annum  —  what  do  you  think  ?  I  'm  most  afraid  to 
tell  you !  I  begin  June  1,  and  the  agreement  is  only 
for  six  months  at  first,  to  see  how  it  works.  Lor! 
what  shall  I  write  about?  As  yet,  I  have  not  one 
idea !  Think  of  my  .  .  .  well,  I  was  going  to  use 
a  homely  but  forcible  phrase,  but  I  guess  I  won't  as 
you  might  be  shocked. 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  Miss  LUCKETIA  HALE 

Tuesday  noon,  October  10,  1871. 

DEAR  LTJC.,  —  Let  the  recess  be  long,  and  the  fiends 
remain  long  absent,  for  I  have  much  to  say.  .  .  . 

You  did  the  right  thing  in  going  up.  The 
trees  must  be  gorgeous,  and  I  envy  you  some  out- 
doors possibilities.  I  must  put  in,  Is  it  not  dread- 
ful about  Chicago?  What  a  pall  hangs  over  our 


72          LETTEKS   OF   SUSAN  KALE 

thoughts   remembering   that   perhaps   it   is    always 
going  on.  ... 

Well,  my  dear,  last  night  I  went  to  the  opera!! 
with  the  faithful  Jamie  Davis,  and  had  such  a  time 
as  we  had  seeing  "  Martha "  in  Paris.  Nilsson  is 
just  Marguerite  as  invented  by  Goethe,  and  drawn 
by  Ketzch.  Singing,  action  perfect,  and  Capoul  .  .  . 
Not  so  lovely  to  look  at  as  Mario,  but  very  adorable, 
and  the  taste  would  grow,  like  olives.  They  did  it 
so  well  that  it  was  very  painful,  and  I  have  to-day 
the  lowness  of  spirits  one  would  feel  after  hearing 
the  real  facts  of  an  affair  like  that.  The  Mephis- 
topheles  was  altogether  too  good.  Gorgeous  house. 
C.  and  H.  H.  swelling  round  in  full  dress.  I  can't 
get  used  to  the  modern  expanse  of  shirt-bosom.  This 
is  the  impression  received  from  a  man  nowadays. 
Shirt,  et  praeterea  nihil.  .  .  . 

Yrs., 
S. 

To  Miss  LUCEETIA  HALE 

Monday  morning,  1872. 

Happy  New  Year! 

.  .  .  Think  of  my  being  drawn  in  again  to  do 
jinks  at  the  Women's  Club  with  Mrs.  Howe!  She 
came  and  was  so  sweet.  I  do  love  her  as  always.  I 
dined  at  her  house  Friday  to  talk  it  over  —  such  a 
scattery  dinner !  and  Saturday  p.  M.  we  had  it.  ... 

But  what  I  was  got  for  was  to  do  the  Devil  in 
"Punch  and  Judy."  Mrs.  Howe's  idea  was  good  — 
to  be  herself  Punch,  Mrs.  Cheney,  Judy.  They  had 
a  baby,  of  pillow,  which  they  threw  over  into  the 
audience,  and  they  had  written  out  a  dialogue  bear- 
ing on  the  times.  You  know,  Woman's  Rights  and 
all  that,  which  was  rather  clever.  Mrs.  Howe  looked 
just  like  Punch,  with  a  hump,  and  I  rouged  the  end 
of  her  nose  a  little;  .  .  .  After  Judy  was  killed,  I 


TEACHING   SCHOOL   IN   BOSTON     73 

came  up,  and  we  had  (Punch  and  I)  an  aesthetic 
talk  about  the  underworld,  planned  by  her,  which 
was  rather  funny,  with  references  to  Dr.  Hedge, 
Abbot,  O.  B.  Frothingham,  etc.;  but  I  want  to  de- 
scribe my  get-up,  which  was  superb,  studied  after  the 
Mephisto  of  Faust.  Your  bashlik,  the  point  made 
to  stand  up,  fastened  closely  round  face ;  two  red 
sugar-plum  horns  pinned  on  for  horns;  my  red- 
flannel  shirt  put  on  over  gown ;  lots  of  rouge,  and  eye- 
brows corked  as  in  sketch.  I  kept  dancing  up  and 
down  with  upraised  arms;  they  said  I  looked  very 
handsome;  guess  I  did.  .  .  .  The  performance 
closed,  as  it  generally  now  does,  with  "Coming 
through  the  Rye,"  by  me.  .  .  . 

Yrs., 

SUSE. 

To  Miss  LTJCRETIA  HALE 

RECESS,  Tuesday,  January  9,  1872. 

DEAK  LUC., — I  have  just  been  digesting  your  splen- 
did long  letter;  and,  though  'tis  madness  to  begin 
with  the  children  expected  back  all  the  time,  must 
seize  the  afflatus  of  the  moment.  .  .  . 

I  think  the  new  "Alice"  is  letter  than  the  old. 
Of  course  the  tendency  is  to  think  it  is  not;  but  the 
fact  that  the  idea  don't  come  freshly  on  us  makes 
it  necessary  for  it  to  be  better  in  order  to  be  good 
at  all.  The  first  rose  must  have  driven  the  first 
smeller  perfectly  wild,  but  every  rose  since  has  smelt 
just  as  well.  Excuse  floweriness.  But  the  back- 
wards conception,  —  the  going  the  other  way  when 
you  want  to  get  there, — the  Knights  checking  each 
other,  are  higher  flights  than  anything  in  the  first, 
and  pictures  are  more  and  lovelier;  I  think  it  is 
splendid.  ...  The  more  I  read  the  new  "  Alice," 
the  better  I  like  it.  That  picture,  the  two  pictures 
of  shaking  the  Red  Queen  into  the  Kitten  are  heav- 


74          LETTEKS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

enly.  I  think  the  fight  between  the  Knights  is  per- 
fectly enchanting,  with  the  picture,  and  that  account 
of  the  White  Knight's  Horse.  "There  were  not 
likely  to  Be  Mice,  but  if  there  were  he  did  n't  choose 
to  have  them  running  about."  Oh!  I  feel  so,  read- 
ing that  book.  How  lovely  to  meet  again  the  Haigha 
in  his  new  form.  What  could  be  better  than  the 
conversation  with  Humpty-Dumpty  ?  The  cravat  that 
might  be  a  Belt.  I  begin  to  think  it  is  far  superior 
to  the  ... 

My  dear,  yesterday  p.  M.  I  staggered  out,  cold  and 
all,  to  attend  dear  Dr.  Hedge  at  King's  Chapel,  and 
oddly  enough  sate  cheek  by  jowl  with  Almira  Dewey 
in  a  strange  pewey.  Dr.  H.  very  interesting,  but 
made  me  feel  bad  because  I  can't  go  with  him  in  his 
unfaith  in  the  Miracles.  It  was  about  what  he  calls 
the  "Myths"  of  the  Gospel,  and  J.  T.  S.,  A.  and 
Miss  S.,  in  a  pew  before  me,  kept  grinning  at  each 
other  like  demons  rejoicing  in  gaining  a  Mind.  But 
afterwards  I  met  the  dear  boy,  and  he  came  here 
and  made  me  a  sweet  visit,  conversing  pleasantly 
with  Cats,  who  sported  with  that  Runx1  and  came 
out  quite  well.  .  .  . 

To  Miss  MART  B.  DINSMOOR 

BOSTON,  January  16,  1872. 

DEAR  MARY,  —  Forgive  me,  if  I  grow  more  and 
more  to  contemplate  you  and  Annie  and  Lucretia 
as  a  remote  and  indistinct  mass  of  Nebulous  Matter 
constantly  demanding  food  for  reflection  from  the 
Source  of  Light  and  Heat.  Lucretia  retains  a  sort 
of  separate  individuality,  to  be  sure,  by  virtue  of  her 
sororal  relations,  but  as  far  as  life  is  concerned,  I 
hurl  my  missiles  indiscriminately.  As  you  wrote 
recently,  I  will  aim  this  at  you.  Might  begin  by 
1  Word  for  Uncle  in  the  Cat  language. 


TEACHING   SCHOOL   IN   BOSTON     Y5 

thanking  you  for  the  account  of  your  Brain  Ball; 
of  course  I  was  dying  to  hear  all  about  it,  it  must 
have  been  capital.  Eequired  a  good  deal  of  nerve 
to  do  a  thing  which  was  all  in  the  execution,  and 
could  be  nothing  in  the  preparation";  but  that's  the 
sort  our  sort  likes. 

Now,  in  this  town,  you  have  to  putter  over  a  thing, 
even  the  slightest,  a  month.  The  powers  that  evolved 
the  cabbage  apple-pie  in  the  morning,  and  executed 
it  in  the  evening,  are  here  unknown  quantities. 

So  for  a  fortnight,  we  have  been  talking  and  pre- 
paring for  Lizzie  Homans'  Brain  Club;  and  it  came 
off  last  night. 

It  is  over  —  it  has  rattled  itself  off  like  a  horse- 
car  on  time,  as  irrevocably  and  irretrap-ably  (ad- 
mire this  word  coined  for  the  exigencies  of  Horse- 
car-ity).  I  am  now  about  to  tell  you  about  it. 
You'll  swoon  at  how  elaborate  it  was,  and  yet  spite 
of  my  recent  remarks,  elaboration  tells;  particu- 
larly on  the  average  mind. 

We  did  "The  Loving  Ballad  of  Lord  Bateman" 
(and  several  people  asked  afterwards  if  one  of  us 
(and  which  one!)  wrote  it  on  purpose  for  this  occa- 
sion!). If  you  remember  the  original  footnotes  at 
the  end  are  very  funny,  so  we  introduced  them. 
Dodge  played  on  the  piano,  Dr.  John  Homans  sang ; 
when  they  came  to  a  note  the  music  stopped,  and 
Mrs.  Julia  Howe,  draped  like  a  Greek  chorus,  with 
a  laurel  wreath  (made  by  me)  on  her  brow,  read  it. 
At  the  end  she  blew  a  whistle,  and  the  Song  was 
resumed.  HI.  Wild  was  Lord  Bateman,  in  a  black 
curling  wig,  trunk  hose,  and  red  tights.  Jerry  Abbot 
was  the  proud  young  porter,  and  I,  even  I,  was 
Sophia.  We  had  no  scenery,  only  accessories  set  on 
and  off  the  stage  by  supes,  as  they  were  wanted. 
In  the  beginning,  where  Lord  Bateman  enters,  we 
had  a  little  ship  in  a  glass  case,  which  wound  up 


76  LETTEKS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

and  pitched  and  tossed.  It  is  now  time  to  remark 
that  I  was  simply  lovely,  got  up  with  every  Eastern 
allure  that  native  experience  could  suggest,  and  bor- 
rowed opulence,  provide.  I  had  a  regular  stuffed  tur- 
ban—  to  look  the  conventional  oriental,  not  the  real 
—  with  a  lovely  sparkling  thing  in  front.  I  braided 
my  hair  at  the  sides,  painted  my  eyebrows  a  little 
blacker,  and  tipped  the  outer  corners  of  my  eyes. 
Rouge,  of  course.  Then  I  had  full  trousers  made 
of  Lizzie's  old  yellow  silk.  A  sort  of  apron  before, 
and  one  behind,  of  that  purple  and  gold  broad  scarf 
I  brought  home.  My  gold  belt,  very  small  at  the 
waist;  an  Eastern  sleeveless  jacket  of  black,  red  and 
gold,  with  full  white  muslin  sleeves  to  the  elbow; 
throat  open,  and  white  waist  showing  below  the 
jacket;  endless  necklaces  and  chains  and  bracelets 
and  beads.  Lord  Bateman  presented  me,  the  day 
before,  with  a  sparkling  brooch  (price  25  cents  prob- 
ably at  Salom's)  and  the  proud  young  porter  sent 
me  two  necklaces  of  gold  and  pearl  beads.  I  had 
white  shoes  embroidered  with  gold.  The  effect  of 
the  foot  is  infinitely  becoming,  for  the  trouser  droops 
behind  and  relieves  the  ankle  in  front.  Well,  we 
had  big  keys  and  chains,  and  wine  and  all  that, 
and  the  parting  of  B.  and  S.  was  very  good.  Re- 
member that  Boston  has  not  seen  any  Ballad,  ex- 
cept "  Lochinvar  "  two  years  ago  by  the  same  Corps 
Dramatique. 

At  "  Seven  long  years  were  past  and  gone,"  Sophia 
comes  in  very  weary  with  carpet-bag  and  Arab 
blanket — Eastern  bashlik  over  other  costume.  Looks 
at  numbers  till  finds  Lord  Bateman's,  rings  loud 
bell.  Jerry  Abbot,  in  a  false  nose  with  a  huge 
bouquet  at  button-hole,  appears.  I  ask  if  Lord  Bate- 
man is  within,  you  know,  he  replies,  "  Yes,"  and  my 
countenance  assumes  raptures.  He  goes  on,  "He's 
just  now  taking  his  young  bride  in."  My  face 


TEACHING   SCHOOL   IN   BOSTON     77 


changes  —  I  fall  in  a  rigid  swoon  on  his  arm. 
Pause  in  the  singing,  and  Dodge  played  minor  sev- 
enths for  a  few  pathetic 
moments,  till  I  came  to. 
This  was  my  great  coup. 

EllenFrothingham  and 
youngest  Burnham  were 
bride's  mother  and  bride. 
H.  Wild  had  a  splendid 
great  sword  which  he 
broke  in  three.  The 
bride  and  b.'s  mother  are 
led  off  by  porter.  Then 
Dodge  played  the  Lovers' 
music  from  "Faust,"  and 
H.  Wild  did  a  scene  by 
himself,  full  of  senti- 
mental emotion  at  the  thought  of  seeing  Sophia. 
Jerry  leads  me  in,  we  rush  forward  and  are  lost  at 
the  footlights  in  a  wild  embrace.  .  .  . 

Pas  de  trois,  by  Lord  B.,  Sophia  and  the  porter. 
Pas  seul,  by  Sophia,  regular  ballet  style.  Ditto,  by 
Lord  B.  with  castanets;  ditto,  comic,  by  porter.  I 
get  up  on  footstool,  they  support,  and  —  Curtain. 

You  must  fancy  the  pauses  for  the  solemn  reading 
of  the  notes  in  Sister  Howe's  musical  monotone. 

They  thought  it  was  awfully  funny.  Mary 
Dorr  thinks,  "  On  the  whole  it  was  the  funniest 
thing  which  has  ever  been  done  in  Boston."  This 
is  strong  as  we  can't  answer  for  the  Pilgrim 
Fathers,  for  who  knows  what  they  may  have  done  for 
larks  ? 

That  sweet  dear  boy,  Nat.  Childs  (who  was  Juliette 
to  Ned  Bowditch's  Komeo),  began  the  evening  by 
reciting  a  touching  Irish  narrative,  called  "  Shamus 
O'Brien."  I  dare  say  you  Ve  read  it.  And  after 
the  Ballad,  with  his  face  blacked  for  a  darky,  he  did 


78  LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

a  "  Song  and  Dance,"  two,  in  fact.  Lovely  tenor 
songs  with  double  shuffle,  etc.,  between.  He  did  it 
exquisitely.  He  is  as  graceful  as  a  fawn ;  and  Lizzie 
dotes  on  that  sport ;  but  I  hate  the  niggeryness  of  it, 
and  was  sorry  I  had  allowed  it,  as  of  course  he  did 
it  to  please  me.  But  it  was  good,  as  being  discipline 
for  the  club,  who  didn't  quite  know  what  to  make 
of  it. 

Meanwhile  I  came  out,  got  my  compliments,  and 
lor,  what  a  fuss  they  made  about  my  looks,  —  all 
so  surprised  I  could  look  so  well.  The  dress  got 
praised  as  being  so  genuinely  Eastern,  which  was 
rather  strong,  as  the  turban  was  an  anomaly,  which 
Ayusha  would  have  repudiated,  and  the  trousers  were 
Lizzie's  old  gown;  but  no  matter,  I  got  to  believe 
I  really  looked  Eastern,  and  I  did.  The  whole  effect 
was  just  like  those  critters  at  Assiout.  Charles  and 
Edward  and  Emily  were  there;  Dr.  Hedge  and 
Carrie ;  Dr.  Shurtleff  and  Annie  Bursley ;  the  Guilds. 
Quite  a  crowd  of  my  particulars,  not  to  mention  Mr. 
Appleton,  J.  Davis,  and  more  modern  admirers.  We 
stayed  to  sit-down  champagne  and  duck  supper.  So 
did  Charley.  We  were  quite  jolly. 

Yours, 

SUSE. 

To  Miss  LTJCEETIA  HALE 

Tuesday  Morgen,  Jan.  23,  187%. 
DEAB  LTJCRETIA, —  .  .  .  You  will  observe  that 
the  flesh  is  weak.  The  reason  is  that  last  evening 
I  attended  our  German  Club  at  Clover  Hooper's. 
My  dear,  it  was  great  fun,  but  intensely  exhausting. 
Twenty-four  members,  male  and  female,  and  nothing 
but  German  talked.  Mr.  Siedhof  present,  but  not 
presiding ;  no  method,  only  conversation,  with  a  brief 
interval  of  "  put  in  a  word."  Almost  all,  really,  talk 
more  than  I,  which  is  not  saying  much;  but  almost 


TEACHING   SCHOOL   IN   BOSTON     79 

all  have  lived  two  or  three  years  in  Germany,  and 
speak  fluently  —  like  my  French  —  with  a  good 
sprinkling  of  "  Zo  I "  and  "  gans  genug  "  and  all  that, 
though  even  I  could  perceive  their  verbs  disagreeing 
with  their  subjects,  and  their  adjectives  quite  adverse 
from  their  nouns.  Still  I  think  it  quite  a  remarkable 
Gesellschaft.  .  .  . 

But  the  strain  on  the  brain!  Exactly,  my  dear, 
which  you  can  comprehend  alone,  the  depleted  state 
we  were  in  after  the  Barthow  spree  at  Aix.  The 
listening  so  hard  to  verstehen  was  more  fatiguing 
than  the  replies.  We  had  a  nice  supper,  sitting 
round,  but  still  in  German.  Oh!  I  was  so  limp 
when  it  was  over  I  could  hardly  get  home,  and  fell 
upon  the  pillow  in  a  kind  of  syncope. 

Our  Nieberg  Class  meets  to-day  at  two.  I  'm  sure 
on  my  tomb  will  not  long  hence  be  read : 

"  She  is  dead, 
but  she  understands  German. 

Her  last  words  were 
Auf  wiedersehen!"     (In  script.) 

Yours, 
SUSE. 

To  Miss  LUCEETIA  HALE 

Thursday  morning,  May  2,  1872. 

{These  months  have  different  names,  but  are 

all  just  alike,  cold  and  raw  and  rheumatizzy.) 

DEAR  LUC.,  —  ...  Yesterday  p.  M.  I  had  a  great 
tooth  dragged  out,  and  staggered  home  to  bed  at 
seven  o'clock,  whence  I  have  just  risen,  toothless  and 
painless,  but  with  a  tendency  to  swoon  unless  propped 
up  against  something.  Of  course  the  tooth  had  been 
aching  fiercely  for  twenty-four  hours  previous.  It 
is  now  to  be  hoped  that  that  particular  tooth  will  dis- 
appear from  the  pages  of  history,  or,  at  least,  of  my 


80  LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

biography.  Mines  of  Golconda,  forests  of  India  rub- 
ber, miles  of  gutta-percha  have  been  sunk  in  it.  The 
talent  of  Hitchcock  and  a  thousand  previous  dentists 
have  spent  themselves  upon  that  tooth  ever  since  I 
first  opened  my  mouth  before  the  operating-chair. 
Yet  whenever  there  was  a  March  wind,  and  I  was 
particularly  unfitted  to  encounter  a  face-ache,  it 
began.  It  was  at  last  totally  useless  —  and  came 
out  finally  in  three  pieces,  with  a  good  deal  of 
yanking.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  CHARLES  HALE 

Saturday  morning,  May  11,  1872. 

DEAR  CHARLEY, —  .  .  .  Now,  my  dear,  you  ask 
me  about  my  plans,  and  I  am  about  to  spring  them 
on  you,  so  get  your  salt-bottle  and  prepare  to  hear 
amazing  things. 

I  've  got  to  give  up  my  rooms  here ! !  Dr.  Leach's 
lease  is  up.  BDe  leaves.  House  gutted,  changed  to 
big  boarding-house.  I  not  wanted.  Now  this  breaks 
up  my  class  a  good  deal  as  that  depends  upon  local- 
ity. It  is  odious  to  hunt  up  rooms.  I  am  relieved 
July  1,  of  course,  from  paying  rent.  .  .  . 

I  think  of  spending  a  year  in  Germany !  !  ! 

My  idea  is  to  go  out  say  September  15.  Not  travel 
at  all.  Spend  the  winter  in  some  cheap  town  (  Stutt- 
gart is  suggested,  for  reasons),  and  take  lessons  in 
water-colours.  Come  back,  September,  1873,  and 
give  lessons  in  water-colours,  on  the  strength  of  the 
skill  and  prestige  I  have  acquired.  Now  don't  you 
think  it  is  a  good  plan  ?  Everybody  does  to  whom  I 
have  mentioned  it.  I  should  spend  next  summer  in 
some  picturesque  place  (south  of  France),  where  I 
could  make  good  sketches  to  show  when  I  got  home. 
...  I  have  told  Edward,  and  he  approves.  .  .  . 


TEACHING   SCHOOL   IN   BOSTON     81 

So  if  you  see  any  let  or  hindrance  speak  now,  or 
forever  after  hold  your  peace  —  for  I  am  amenable 
to  kind  treatment  —  and,  if  any  better  plan  can  be 
suggested  for  my  immediate  future,  am  willing  to 
adopt  it.  I  think  there  is  no  doubt  I  can  live  on  six 
hundred  dollars,  or  less,  at  Stuttgart,  say,  and  I  have 
enough  besides  to  pay  my  passage  both  ways.  I 
should  think  I  could,  and  I  should  like  it,  correspond 
for  some  newspaper,  and  tell  how  many  francs  it 
costs  to  have  garlic  in  your  washing,  which  would  be 
lucrative.  I  should  n't  wonder  also  if  I  fell  in  with 
some  lucrative  occupation  there ;  at  any  rate,  the  rest 
and  variety  would  set  me  up  immensely. 

Write  your  views.  .  .  . 

Always  yours, 

SUSIE. 


CHAPTER   IV 

Studying  art  in  Europe  —  Accompanied  ~by  the 
Misses  Bursley  and  Miss  Harriet  James.,  after- 
wards Mrs.  John  C.  Bancroft. 

(1872-1873) 

To  Miss  LTTCRETIA  P.  H!ALE 

PAEIS,  HOTEL  LIVERPOOL,  RUE  CASTIGLIONE, 
October  1,  1872. 

DEAR  LUCRETIA,  —  Volumes,  of  course,  and  no  true 
place  to  begin.  So  busy  in  London,  and  so  tired 
at  night  that  it  was  impossible  to  write,  so  my  nar- 
rative is  far  behindhand. 

To-day,  I  have  your  letter.  What  rapture  —  but 
the  first  from  you  I  did  not  get,  in  London,  pish! 
though  Baring  had  continual  hot  drafts  at  his 
feet.  .  .  . 

I  keep  thinking  of  so  many  little  side-things  to  tell 
you,  that  I  think  I  must  devote  this  sheet  to  them, 
and  begin  my  regular  narrative  on  another,  although 
I  long  to  record  all  of  our  interesting  sight-seeing  in 
London. 

But  think,  my  dear,  of  my  actually  being  here  in 
sweet  Paris.  I  do  love  it,  so  much  more  than  Lon- 
don, and  feel  so  much  more  at  home  with  the  sweet 
French  than  with  the  English,  whose  cockney  con- 
versation I  really  could  not  make  out  so  well  as  this 
French.  My  hair,  however,  is  now  dressed  upon  a 
true  English  model,  which  I  shall  adhere  to  till  I 
have  sufficiently  studied  the  French  one  to  go  into 
that  . 


STUDYING  AET   IN   EUEOPE         83 

Narrative  (o/  London} 

I  believe  I  left  off  last  Wednesday  P.M.  What 
ages  ago  it  seems !  .  .  . 

Thursday  after  breakfast  Annie  and  I  started  off 
to  find  B.  F.  Stevens,  17  Henrietta  Street,  Covent 
Garden,  W.  C.,  that  address  burnt  in  upon  my 
brain  and  stamped  upon  all  my  memorandum  books, 
through  directing  thither  things  for  Charles.  Imag- 
ine my  feelings  at  seeing  the  familiar  words  staring 
at  me  from  the  corner  of  a  house,  and  very  near 
Stevens's  sign. 

Stevens  proved  to  be  a  love,  as  you  will  see  by  the 
Sequel.  He  kept  reminding  me  of  J.  Aug.  Johnson, 
—  a  little,  in  his  appearance,  but  chiefly,  in  his  ex- 
tremely cordial  way  of  making  us  have  a  good  time. 
He  asked  our  plans  at  once,  took  right  hold  and 
thought  up  what  we  had  better  do  and  see,  and  laid 
out  a  programme  for  all  the  rest  of  our  time  in  Lon- 
don, part  of  which  he  proposed  to  share  himself.  It 
was  very  nice,  and  Annie  and  I  came  home  in  great 
elation;  but  first  he  walked  with  us  through  Covent 
Garden  Market,  an  enchanting  place  full  of  flowers 
and  fruit,  and  such  a  variety  of  vegetables  unknown 
to  us,  as  to  make  one  for  the  first  time  understand 
the  Institution  of  "Green  Grocers."  I  bought  a 
little  bunch  of  sweet  English  violets  for  twopence, 
and  a  bag  full  of  plums  and  grapes  for  nothing  at 
all  to  speak  of ;  and  Annie  bought  shrimps,  which  we 
afterwards  got  the  maid  to  show  us  how  to  eat,  which 
she  did,  through  opening  them  with  a  pin,  and  break- 
ing off  some  of  their  legs  and  biting  off  others.  Very 
good.  .  .  .  Westminster  Abbey  interesting,  but  rather 
in  the  Louvre  line ;  a  delicious  guide,  in  a  black  gown, 
as  if  he  were  a  minister,  who  showed  everything  in 
the  richest  cockney,  which  I  shall  imitate  for  a  Brain 
Club.  Don't  tell,  but  all  abbeys  are  just  alike  (I 


84          LETTERS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

have  seen  two) .  However,  the  English  History  is  in- 
tensely interesting,  and  Carrie  and  I,  especially,  are 
constantly  looking  up  all  the  points  and  reminding 
each  other  of  them.  It  is  interesting  to  stand  by  the 
Tomb  of  Edward  the  Confessor,  also  to  see  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots  and  Elizabeth  really  lying  on  their 
backs  in  the  same  building,  with  nothing  but  a  chapel 
between. 

But  I  should  like  to  take  these  things  on  full  gal- 
lop, instead  of  dawdling  along  gaping  at  them.  I 
get  fearfully  tired,  and  a  very  little  Abbey  goes  a 
long  way  with  me.  ...  In  the  evening  I  went  with 
Mr.  Stevens  to  Covent  Garden  Theatre.  Saw  a  deli- 
cious fairy-piece  by  Boucicault.  All  the  others 
backed  out,  which  was  unwise,  for  I  had  a  splendid 
time.  Stage  changing  all  the  time,  like  that  thing 
we  saw  in  Paris.  Only  the  English  are  so  English, 
and  even  the  fairies  had  their  front-hair  spatted  down 
as  mine  is  at  present. 

Friday,  we  had  such  a  good  day.  Mr.  Stevens  met 
us  in  the  coffee-room  and  we  went  to  the  river,  di- 
rectly behind  our  hotel,  where  we  took  a  penny  boat 
(steam)  down  the  Thames  to  London  Bridge.  A 
foggy,  murky  day  —  the  towers  of  St.  Paul's  dim 
and  vague  against  the  Yellow  Cotton  Wool,  called  sky 
by  the  ignorant  English;  passed  Somerset  House; 
saw  water-men,  evidently  from  Dickens,  fishing  for 
dead  bodies  and  the  like.  We  landed  at  London 
Bridge  and  went  through  odd,  crooked  streets,  all 
with  histories  and  associations  we  recognised,  pointed 
out  by  Stevens.  Through  Billingsgate  Market,  where 
every  kind  of  fish  was  lying,  where  the  smell  was  not 
of  roses,  and  roughs  yelled  at  each  other,  and  a  man 
poked  at  Carrie  with  an  old  fish-knife.  So  we  came 
to  the  Tower,  where  an  old  beef-eater  took  us  in 
custody,  and  expounded  matters.  (See  "Murray's 
Guide.")  The  historical  places  are  very  interesting, 


STUDYING   ART   IN   EUROPE         85 

and  many  make  your  blood  run  cold.  To  see  the 
Water-Gate  and  the  Traitor's  Gate!  —  and  the 
very  spot  where  Ann  Boleyn  had  her  head  cut  off. 
We  think  English  children  have  immense  advantages 
for  learning  these  things,  and  envy  the  governesses 
who  can  point  their  morals  by  taking  pupils  to  the 
spot.  But  they  take  delight  at  all  these  places  in  con- 
cealing the  most  interesting  points,  and  showing  ever- 
lastingly stupid  things.  At  the  Tower  some  idiot 
has  taken  all  the  old  bits  of  swords  and  firearms  left 
over  after  fights,  and  made  them  into  sort  of  worsted- 
patterns,  flowers  and  things  on  the  wall ;  and  you  get 
fearfully  tired  of  them,  but  the  guide  is  so  fond  of 
them,  that  he  lingers  over  them  far  more  than 
"  Jane,"  cut  in  the  wall  of  his  prison,  by  Lord  Guild- 
ford  Dudley! 

There  was  a  truly  grey  cat  out  in  the  yard,  and  a 
raven  that  I  liked  about  as  well  as  anything,  and 
ivy  on  the  walls,  and  the  air  was  very  sweet  and 
sunny  in  the  old  courtyard.  Mr.  Stevens  left  us  at 
the  Moorsgate  Street  Station  of  the  underground 
railway  —  and  off  we  went  through  tunnels  and 
worms-eye  ways  to  Gower  Street,  where  we  got  out 
and  walked  down  a  long  street  to  the  British  Museum. 
Terrible  great  place.  Impossible,  of  course,  to  do 
it  justice.  The  thing,  for  me,  my  dear,  of  course, 
was  to  see  the  tablet  of  Abydos  on  the  wall,  like  a 
piece  of  the  Puzzle  Map,  lost  alas !  to  the  dear  Egyp- 
tians. There  it  was  —  and  the  "  Murray "  says, 
"  This  is  of  but  trifling  interest  to  any  but  the  archa&- 
ologist."  I  liked  it.  Lots  of  Ramses  there.  It  made 
me  mad  to  see  them  uprooted  from  their  natural  soil, 
which  becomes  them  so  much  better  than  this  British 
Roof.  Elgin  Marbles :  very  much  knocked  to  pieces, 
and,  of  course,  modern  to  us.  The  books  one  could 
do  nothing  about  in  one  glimpse  like  that.  I  thought 
of  Edward  revelling  there  day  after  day. 


86          LETTEES   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

Annie  and  I  sent  the  other  girls  home  by  a  short- 
cut carefully  explained  to  them  on  the  Map,  —  and 
we  took  a  long  course  up  Oxford  Street  and  home 
by  Regent  Street  and  Pall  Mall.  This  was  about 
the  only  chance  I  had  to  shop.  We  went  to  Rowney's, 

—  delicious !  —  and    I    bought    two    squeeze    tubes. 
Winsor  and  Newton's  was  too  far  off;  but  Rowney 
is  meme  chose;  there  were  water-colours  there,  and 
every  mouth-watering  material  of  Art.     Paint-box 
like  mine,  such  as  Maud  hankers  for,  for  about  $8.00. 
Home  late  and  shrecldich  tired  and  footsore,  and  to 
bed  at  eight  o'clock. 

Saturday,  I  went  round  by  Stevens's  to  leave  the 
little  parcel  for  you  and  Charlie.  Carrie  was  with 
me,  and  then  we  walked  down  to  Prout's,  Strand, 
where  we  met  the  other  girls,  and  all  went  to  St. 
Paul's.  A  service  was  going  on,  and  we  heard  a 
choir  of  boys  intone  the  creed  and  things.  Very  high, 
as  also  was  the  Whispering  Gallery,  which  we  after- 
wards visited.  Then  we  went  out  to  the  Crystal 
Palace,  where  we  had  a  high  old  frolic.  It  is  such 
a  gay  place.  Saturday  is  the  popular  day,  and  chil- 
dren were  rushing  about  blowing  tin  trumpets,  eating 
buns.  It  reminded  me  of  the  Exhibition,  Lucretia, 
because  we  did  the  same  way  —  ate  things  at  a  res- 
taurant; heard  two  concerts,  lead  by  Hullati;  were 
weighed  in  a  kind  of  chair  (I  weighed  1381/2  ;  gained 
half  a  pound ! )  ;  saw  the  picture-gallery,  aquarium, 
tree-ferns;  bought  nougat,  wandered  in  the  grounds 

—  got  to  the  Low-Level  Station  and  found  our  re- 
turn tickets  were  High-Level,  and  had  to  go  miles 
back  again.     All  this,  railway  tickets  included,  for 
2s. !  —  except  what  we  ate. 

We  came  back  to  Victoria  Station.  ...  I  took 
cab  and  hurried  home,  dressed  and  got  to  dine  at  the 
Rodman's  at  six-thirty.  Very  cosy  little  dinner  with 
much  chat;  they  had  tried  for  theatre  tickets  to  see 


STUDYING  AKT   IN  EUKOPE         87 

"  Money,"  the  crack  thing ;  but  all  were  engaged  for 
a  week.  They  sail  for  home  the  17th  Oct.  *  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  S.  K.  Lothrop  arrived  in  London  that  day!  I 
saw  them  not ;  Kodmans  told  me.  Home  in  cab  —  so 
convenient  —  only  a  shilling.  It  is  not  the  thing 
for  ladies  to  ride  in  a  "Hansom,"  which  broke  my 
heart.  Dare  say  I  should  have  done  it,  if  left  to 
myself,  but  no  matter. 

Now  Sunday  was  our  sweetest  but  most  deadly 
day.  Walked  to  the  Foundling  Hospital  Service  in 
the  Chapel  by  six  hundred  children.  Fearful  stupid 
sermon.  I  kept  thinking  how  Edward  would  have 
preached  to  those  children  and  not  at  them  like  this 
man,  whose  sermon  was  (I  really  believe  it  wasn't, 
though)  "The  sins  of  the  fathers  shall  be  visited 
upon  the  children."  After  the  service,  Mr.  Stevens 
(again!)  met  us,  and  showed  us  the  little  things 
eating  —  their  beds  and  all  that  —  most  touching; 
in  a  glass  case,  the  little  souvenirs  found  when  they 
come,  pinned  on  them  (ever  since  1600)  to  identify 
them!  Lovely  grounds  outside. 

Railway  (with  Stevens)  from  Waterloo  Station  to 
Hampton  Court.  It  was  lovely  weather  —  have  we 
not  been  lucky !  —  and  the  grounds  were  simply  en- 
chanting! and  the  Court  itself  the  most  attractive 
old  place  I  have  seen.  Eeeks  with  Henry  VIII, 
etc.  We  passed  many  hours  there.  Then,  think  of 
this,  were  rowed  in  a  boat,  down  to  Surbiton,  a  sta- 
tion nearer  London.  This  was  the  best  of  all  the 
things  we  did.  The  lovely  river  —  exactly  like  pic- 
tures by  Mrs.  S.  C.  Hall  —  men  punt-fishing  in 
chairs,  lovers  in  boats,  cows  on  the  shore!  I  shall 
never  forget  it  —  all  in  the  sunset  light.  We  left 
Stevens  at  Surbiton  and  took  train  for  London. 
Weary  evening  packing.  ...  To  bed  at  twelve  and 
up  at  six  in  the  morning. 

Monday,  a  fearful  heik  getting  off.  .  .  .  My  dear ! 


88          LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

the  Channel  was  smooth  as  a  lamb !  None  of  us  were 
sick,  although  you  would  have  been,  for  some  were, 
—  but  we  sate  on  the  highest  deck  and  watched  the 
Cliffs  of  Dover  recede,  and  La  belle  France  come  into 
sight.  It  was  a  long  and  very  tiring  ride  from 
Calais;  but  we  had  very  funny  companions,  and  de- 
lighted in  their  French,  an  old  woman  with  the  gout, 
and  a  cat  in  a  basket ;  —  and  a  voluble  little  lady 
who  told  me  her  whole  history.  Capital  practice. 
My  French  works  admirably,  though  'tis  fearful 
stuff.  The  train  was  late;  after  dark  when  we 
reached  Paris;  and  I  don't  see  how  I  lived  through 
getting  the  baggage  and  all  that,  tired  as  I  was ;  but 
we  reached  here  at  last.  Our  apartment  is  charming. 
Good-bye. 

YOUR  LOVING  SuSE. 


To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

338  RUE  ST.  HONORE,  PARIS, 
Monday  evening,  October  %8,  1872. 
DEAR  CRECHE, —  .  .  .  My  dear,  the  James  Lowells 
are  here!  and  I  am  having  the  sweetest  time  with 
them.  Mary  Lodge  told  me  their  address,  which 
was  right  on  my  way  home  from  my  lesson,  so  I 
stopped  there  to  see  them,  and  found  them  very 
cordial,  especially  James,  and  they  made  me  come 
and  breakfast  with  them  the  next  day.  They  are 
living  very  near  the  river,  and  not  far  from  here  in 
a  quiet  hotel  where  there  is  a  table  d'hote.  I  arrived 
to  breakfast  at  ten,  and  found  James  waiting  for  me ; 
the  table  d'hote  is  in  a  room  just  on  the  Rue;  soon 
Mrs.  L.  came  down,  and  we  had  a  very  enchantingly 
pleasant  talk,  also  rognons  sautees,  chops  and  fruit. 
Mr.  Lowell  is  very  funny  about  talking  the  French, 
—  and  the  dishes.  He  kept  saying,  "Now,  Susie, 
this  is  the  nicest  thing  that  has  happened,  that  you 


STUDYING  AKT   IN  EUKOPE         89 

are  here  while  we  are."  He  is  perfectly  happy,  rootr 
ing  in  book  stalls  for  all  the  books  in  Old  French  that 
exist,  and  having  them  elegantly  bound,  cheap.  They 
are  living  with  economy,  and  he  wants  to  stay  all 
winter,  and  she  never  wants  to  go  home.  I  went  up 
to  their  salon,  and  stayed  till  twelve,  he  monologued 
while  smoking;  there  was  a  little  fire,  flowers  in  a 
pot,  and  Mrs.  L.  had  her  sewing.  It  was  very  nice, 
and,  besides,  James  was  so  sunny  and  genial;  read 
extracts  from  letters  about  Carlyle,  talked  of  old 
times,  etc.  I  am  to  keep  going  again.  Is  it  not  an 
odd  chance  ? 

That's  that;  now  here's  this.  Hatty  and  I  went 
to  Theatre  Frangais  Saturday  night!  My  knees 
knocked  under  me  a  little  as  I  went  to  buy  my  tickets, 
in  the  afternoon;  but  the  odd  thing  is  that  a  woman 
keeps  the  box-office,  overlooked  by  a  gendarme.  No 
difficulty  at  all  —  and  after  dinner  Hatty  and  I  just 
dropped  down  to  the  theatre,  next  door  to  Palais 
Royal,  on  foot,  walked  up  and  took  our  seats,  which 
were  in  "the  family  circle,"  as  we  should  say,  for 
cheapness  —  perfectly  respectable,  and  surrounded 
by  decorous  French  of  both  sexes.  Do  you  remem- 
ber the  polite  ladies  in  caps  who  tend  the  boxes  and 
tickets  ?  It  was  hot  and  close  —  but  such  bliss  — 
"  The  Cid " !  and  exactly  like  Rachel,  only  her  part 
omitted,  of  course.  I  enjoyed  every  minute.  .  .  . 
So  French !  —  but  such  exquisite  French,  such  enun- 
ciation, far  superior  to  that  of  the  shops.  Perfectly 
good  acting  throughout.  Do  you  know,  there's  no 
bell  for  the  curtain,  but  three  thumps  with  a  kind  of 
hammer,  which  made  all  the  people  in  the  pit  turn 
round  from  ogling  about  like  a  picture  in  the  Illus- 
trated London  News,  and  settle  themselves  to  the 
play.  No  orchestra,  nor  music. 

I  should  like  to  go  every  night.  It  was  not  over 
till  eleven,  and  even  then  the  "  Precieuses  Ridicules  " 


90          LETTERS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

was  to  follow ;  but  I  thought  Hatty  had  had  enough ; 
and  it  was  a  shade  late,  so  we  came  out  and  quietly 
walked  home  through  St.  Honore  Street,  rang  the 
bell,  the  big  door  swung  open,  and  we  rushed  up  to 
narrate  our  adventures.  The  other  girls  were  afraid 
to  go;  but  now  we  have  proved  it  can  be  done,  we 
shall  take  a  loge  next  time,  which  holds  six,  and  costs 
fourteen  francs  —  less  than  our  seats,  which  were 
three  francs  each.  It  is  so  easy  to  do  this  here,  for 
nobody  stares  at  you  at  all,  and  the  streets  are  full 
of  women  (of  respectability)  at  all  hours.  Perhaps 
it  is  just  as  well,  however,  not  to  yawp  much  about 
our  going  alone,  as  it  may  be  considered  loose  in 
America.  All  our  French  friends  here  think  it  per- 
fectly comme  il  faut,  and  seem  not  to  know  what  we 
mean  when  we  doubt  about  going  without  a  man. 
The  fact  is  the  women  have  got  the  upper  hand  en- 
tirely in  this  town — and  the  men  are  of  no  im- 
portance at  all;  Jules  makes  the  beds  and  Madame 
scolds  him. 

The  next  thing  was  a  Heavenly  Concert  yesterday 
p.  M.  to  which  I  went  all  alone,  for  the  girls  had  not 
got  their  steam  on.  I  had  the  most  delicious  time. 
An  orchestral  concert  of  the  largest  orchestra  in  the 
world;  they  played  5th  Symphony,  Traumerei  of 
Schumann,  the  Oberon  overture,  and  a  Mendelssohn 
thing.  In  future  we  shall  all  always  go,  for  they  are 
every  Sunday.  I  find  out  about  these  things  by  talk- 
ing with  Madame  Leviss,  who  is  Herst's  other  eleve 
on  Cours  days ;  I  think  she  is  very  high  in  the  social 
scale,  though  her  hair  is  ill  arranged.  .  .  . 

PARIS,  November  9. 

We  are  beginning  to  pull  out  the  bolts  and  let  our- 
selves down  from  this  blissful  Parisian  life,  where- 
upon despair  falls  upon  me,  for  I  hate  to  stir,  and 
still  more  to  plan  stirring.  We  shall  be  here  all  next 


STUDYING   AET   IN   EUROPE          91 

week,  and  till  Wednesday  of  the  next ;  and  if  I  were 
alone,  I  should  float  on  till  a  week  from  Tuesday 
and  then  skedaddle  (I  think  you  have  this  word, 
have  you  not?)  —  but  that  won't  do;  of  course  there 
is  oceans  of  farewell  visiting  to  do  —  and  winding-up 
in  general,  and  endless  discussing  of  routes  and  the 
like.  I  shall  take  my  last  lesson  of  Herst  next  Sat- 
urday. He  says,  "  He  has  never  parted  from  any  one 
with  so  much  regret,"  —  %  flattery,  if  not  %,  but 
he  is  very  good  to  me  —  and  I  have  immensely  en- 
joyed the  lessons.  Long  to  show  you  the  things  he 
and  I  have  done.  .  .  . 

Just  as  I  came  out  into  the  rue,  an  omnibus  came 
by  —  pas  completf  so  I  sprang  in,  without  that  prayer 
and  fasting  which  should  chasten  the  mind  before 
risking  it  in  a  French  omnibus.  "  Correspondance 
pour  la  Place  Vendome"  I  said  to  the  man,  and  he 
took  it  calmly.  I  paid  six  sous,  and  he  gave  me  a 
little  square  ticket.  We  rode  vast  distances  and 
crossed  bridges  and  passed  fountains,  and  exchanged 
whole  cargoes  of  passengers  at  different  places,  still 
he  said  not  to  get  out  till  I  reached  Place  de  Chatelet. 
(Pitch-dark,  you  observe.)  Here  I  alighted,  and 
went  in  to  the  Bureau  and  said  again,  "  Correspond- 
ance pour  la  Place  Vendome"  which  worked  again, 
for  the  man  gave  me  a  round  thing.  I  went  back  to 
the  side-walk,  but  how  the  divil  (this  is  a  quotation) 
was  I  to  know  what  omnibus  to  take,  for  they  were 
rushing  by  as  thick  as  the  flies  in  Spates's  dining- 
room.  I  soon  got  a  great  facility  in  reading  the 
labels  —  and  when  one  came  that  said  "  Rue  Rivoli," 
I  thought  I  would  risk  myself  on  that.  A  whole 
joule  of  bonnes  in  caps,  old  gents  and  ouvriers  were 
of  the  same  mind.  We  crowded  up  to  the  omnibus, 
the  Guard  yawped,  "  Nobody  but  '  47 '  can  come 
into  this  Bus."  An  old  woman  darted  forward  and 
showed  "47"  on  her  round  ticket,  and  got  in. 


92  LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

"  48  !  "  Then  "  48  "  got  in.  I  was  "  50,"  and  mine 
was  the  last  seat!  and  lots  had  to  wait  for  other 
omnibuses.  I  gave  him  my  round  thing,  which  he 
seemed  to  expect,  and  got  in  and  was  having  a  very 
pleasant  little  ride  in  the  dark  when  I  perceived 
there  was  a  great  jangling  of  bells  in  the  Bus,  and 
the  Guard  was  yawping  that  somebody  hadn't  paid, 
and  after  a  great  deal  of  gabbling  it  turned  out  it  was 
me!  Then  all  the  people  turned  and  rent  me  and 
said,  "Ah,  Madame,  vous  riavez  pas  de  Correspond- 
ance," and  I  said  I  did  have  correspondance  and  then 
the  Guard  got  very  mad,  and  there  was  a  buzzing  of 
voices  and  all  pitching  into  me  and  "  Correspondance 

—  pondance  —  pondance!"  resounded.    Then  I  made 
my  first  Maiden  speech  before  a  French  Audience 
and    told    them    all    exactly    where    I    got    in    and 
what  I  had  done  —  and  then  they  all  said,   "Oh! 
she  left  her  ticket  at  the  Bureau !  "     Seems  I  ought 
to  have  kept  the  square  thing  I  got  in  the  first  bus, 

—  whereas  I  thought  I  was  to  exchange  it  for  the 
round  thing ! ! !     "  Ah  oui,  certainement"  I  replied, 
and  pretended  to  think  that  settled  the  whole  thing 

—  but  the  Guard  continued  to  grumble,  so  I  asked 
him  if  he  still  expected  me  to  pay  and  what  sum,  and 
gave  him  six  sous  over  again,  murmuring  something 
about  the  cruelty  to  "  voler  the  strangers."    I  think 
the  sentiment  of  the  house  was  with  me,  and  my 
neighbours  spoke  soothing  words.    This  skirmish  took 
so  much  time  that  we  soon  reached  rue  d'Alger,  and 
I  left  the  Bus  —  showing  the  difficulties  in  managing 
les  correspondances.     But  you  know,  now,  I  think 
I  know  how  to  do  it ;  and  what  I  really  think  is,  that 
if  you  get  into  any  omnibus  in  any  street  going 
either  way,  it  will  take  you  where  you  want  to  go, 
if  you  give  it  time.  .  .  . 

All  the  Parisian  women  go  about  with  neat  petti- 
coats of  Hack  moreen  just  to  the  tops  of  their  boots. 


STUDYING   ART   IN   EUROPE          93 

Then  they  hold  or  hitch  their  dresses  quite  out  of 
sight.  They  are  either  with  a  flounce  or  not,  trimmed 
with  rows  of  black  velvet  ribbon  or  not.  I  have  just 
got  one, — 'to  wear  instead  of  any  kind  of  crinoline 
except  a  bustle  at  the  top.  I  think  it  is  the  neatest, 
sweetest  fashion  for  a  long  time.  No  French  woman 
dreams  of  letting  her  skirts  drag  in  the  mud  or  dust, 
and  you  can  tell  them  from  the  Americans  in  a 
minute  by  this  difference.  Black  moreen,  and  really 
short,  not  very  full;  mine  is  flounced  behind,  but 
smooth  in  front.  .  .  . 

By  Jingo !  —  excuse  me  —  but  it  just  strikes  me 
that  though  I  have  written  to  Edward  since,  I  have 
not  told  you  about  dining  at  Sophia's  and  going  to 
the  theatre,  —  have  I  ?  That  was  Monday.  I  don't 
believe  I  have  written  you  since  Sunday.  Mercy! 
Well,  Miss  Whitwell  asked  Susan,  Hatty  and  me  to 
dine  and  go  to  the  theatre  with  her  and  Horatio.  We 
went  to  the  Gymnase.  Saw  first,  "  Je  dine  chez  ma 

mere,"  and  then ,  simply  the  most  tremendous 

play  of  sentiment  you  never  saw,  utterly  impossible 
in  English.  Quite  improper  because  so  intense.  But 
so  well  acted.  The  man  is  a  cold-blooded  kind  of 

,  the  woman,  a  passionate,  conscientious,  plain 

woman!  How  French  to  have  her  not  handsome. 
There's  a  love  scene —  We —  No  use  talking 
about  it.  Fancy  one  of  Cherbuliez  novels,  or  even 
M.  de  Camois,  acted  out  on  the  stage.  I  never  got 
wrought  up  —  in  the  same  manner  —  by  acting. 
Simply,  the  people  were  the  people  they  imperson- 
ated. It  was  just  as  bad  and  exciting,  not  vulgar 
or  coarse,  as  it  could  be.  "La  Gueule  du  Loup,"  a 
new  play  with'  a  great  run.  .  .  . 

I  don't  mention  much  a  running  fire  of  calls  from 
Mrs.  Ritchie  and  James  Lowell  and  Charles  Dorr 
and  Homans's  and  ainsi  de  suite,  because  I  am  not 
here  to  catalogue  Americans;  but  it  all  takes  time 


94  LETTERS    OF   SUSAN   HALE 

and  complicates  the  getting  away.  James  Lowell  is 
always  lovely ;  I  must  breakfast  there  once  more.  .  .  . 
Good-bye. 

Yrs., 
SUSIE. 

To  Miss  LUCEETIA  P.  HALE 

PARIS,  1872. 

.  .  .  Sunday  morning  I  breakfasted  at  the  James 
Lowells'  again,  and  with  dear  Mr.  R.  W.  Emerson, 
who  is  there  —  very  beaming,  and  meekly  lending 
himself  to  claret  for  breakfast.  He  is  with  his 
daughter,  Ellen  Emerson.  Lots  of  love  from 

SUSIE. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

388  RUE  ST.  HONORS,  Thursday,  p.  M., 
November  14,  1872. 

DEAR  LUCRETIA,  —  We  have  been  so  upset  by  the 
news  of  the  Boston  Fire,  that  for  a  day  or  two  it- 
seemed  impossible  to  write  or  do  anything  as  we  had 
been ;  and  we  are  all  very  impatient  for  details,  which 
we  cannot  get  even  till  we  are  at  Weimar;  for  we 
shall  leave  here  before  those  mails  can  arrive.  Mean- 
while I  try  to  persuade  myself  that  the  accounts  are 
exaggerated,  and  that  if  anything  very  dreadful  had 
happened,  you  would  telegraph.  We  have  to  sup- 
pose that  Mr.  Fessenden's  Store  is  gone  in  Federal 
Street;  but  that  by  no  means  implies  the  loss  of  his 
fortune.  The  girls  think  their  important  papers  were 
all  there;  but  we  hope  there  was  time  to  get  them 
out.  You  see  we  knew  nothing  about  the  horses 
till  after  we  heard  about  the  fire.  All  came  in  a 
day;  .  .  . 

Well,  Monday  after  my  lesson,  Susan  and  I  started 
off  to  wipe  out  calls,  and  went  to  the  's,  who, 


STUDYING   ART   IN   EUROPE         95 

confound  them,  had  left  their  card  on  me  in  call- 
ing on  the  B.'s.  We  met  Mrs. just  coming  out. 

"  Of  course  you  have  heard,"  she  said,  but  we  had  n't ; 
and  had  to  endure  her  rambling  and  incoherent  ac- 
count that  All  Boston  was  in  flames,  but  it  was  no 

consequence  as  the house  in  Beacon  Street  was 

still  standing.  We  flew  as  soon  as  we  got  rid  of  her 
to  the  Legation,  rue  Chaillot,  near  by  (near  the 
Arc),  and  there  Col.  Hoffman  was  very  kind  and 
sympathetic.  I  have  not  seen  him  before,  though 
he  has  called  here  three  times!  He  showed  me  the 
latest  telegram,  —  the  fire  had  just  broke  out  again — • 
and  told  us  that  we  could  probably  at  nine  o'clock 
get  the  Times  with  more  news.  We  stopped  at  the 
Homans's  coming  home,  and  found  them  bursting 
with  all  they  had  heard  at  Munroe's,  etc.,  and  they 
told  us  of  Bowles  Brothers'  failure.  You  can  im- 
agine the  ferment  of  all  the  Americans  here.  Ladies 
going  for  money  and  finding  Bowles  closed.  Are  we 
not  glad  we  are  not  with  them  —  though  they  soothe 
us  by  saying  All  the  Bankers  are  shaky. 

We  flew  home  and  found  none  of  the  party  had 
heard  about  the  fire.  Hatty  rushed  down  to  Sophia's 
to  hear  what  they  knew  —  the  Whitwells  —  and,  in 
fact,  they  have  lost  lots  of  money,  and  Horatio  has 
had  a  telegram.  There  are  many  private  telegrams, 
and  crowds  of  people  are  sent  for  home.  We  had 
a  gloomy  dinner  at  our  Cafe.  It  was  raining  hard. 
But  Carrie  and  I  had  bought  our  tickets  for  the 
Theatre  Frangais,  and  we  thought  it  foolish  not  to 
go  —  so  we  kept  on  and  enjoyed  it  immensely,  al- 
though every  time  the  curtain  was  down  our  thoughts 
went  back  to  Boston.  Col.  Hoffman  said,  "  It  seems 
there  was  something  the  matter  with  the  horses"  — 
but  that  sounded  so  like  a  French  canard  that  I  took 
no  interest  in  it.  But  next  day  we  had  our  letters  and 
several  papers.  Only  think,  Edward  says,  "  In  case 


96  LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

of  fire  the  engines  will  be  manned  by  men  again 
as  in  old  times,"  etc.  How  dreadful  about  the  horses ! 
.  .  .  All  that  day  and  yesterday  we  could  not  do 
much  but  go  to  banks  and  Galignani's ;  oh,  Monday 
evening  at  nine,  the  girls  sent  Jules  up  to  the  Kiosk 
at  the  Grand  Hotel ;  and  he  brought  back  the  Times 
with  a  column  of  telegraphs  from  Philadelphia,  very 
interesting,  but  we  hope  exaggerated.  Yesterday 
Charles  Dorr  came  round  to  talk  about  it,  and  see 
how  we  felt,  and  cheer  us  up.  I  thought  it  was  very 
pleasant  of  him.  He  seems  to  think  he  has  heavy 
losses.  When  I  got  to  the  Atelier  Tuesday  morning 
M.  Herst  met  me  full  of  interest,  —  you  see  every- 
body hears  of  it,  —  and  I  had  to  explain  the  thing 
in  French  —  in  fact,  I  understand  it  better  in  French 
than  English,  all  about  the  laine  cru  that  was  in  the 
Magazins  de  Gros,  and  tout  cela.  And  Tuesday  eve- 
ning Herst  called  again  to  console.  It 's  a  lie  to  say 
that  we  were  absorbed  by  it  yesterday,  for  we  had 
many  other  things  to  do  and  did  them.  After  my 
lesson,  I  had  a  lovely  breakfast  at  the  Lowells'. 
James  was  very  entertaining,  and  so  was  Mr.  Holmes, 
who  had  commanded  an  immense  quantity  of  French 
oysters  (raw)  in  my  honour.  So  the  breakfast  began 
with  that,  and  they  are  very  good,  which  is  odd,  for 
they  taste  exactly  like  copper  cents  soaked  in  sea- 
water.  J.  R.  L.  says  the  reason  is  that  the  oysters 
feed  on  little  boys  wearing  copper-toed  shoes,  who 
have  been  drowned  in  their  vicinity.  We  also  had 
delicious  Chablis  to  drink  which  was  Mr.  Holmes's 
treat;  and  then  rognons  sautees  and  chops.  Mr. 
Holmes  (you  know  it  is  brother  to  Dr.  O.  W.  H.) 
and  James  Lowell  were  full  of  Jack,  chaffing  each 
other  and  going  on,  and  it  was  very  nice.  I  stayed 
a  long  time  —  and  agreed  (not  really)  to  go  up  the 
Nile  with  them,  as  their  Dragoman,  next  winter. 
My  dear,  it  was  snowing  when  I  came  away,  or  soon 


STUDYING  AET   IN   EUKOPE          97 

after,  and  as  cold  as  Greenland  and  Raw  as  the  Beef 
Fullum  used  to  buy  for  He.  I  went  round  by  "  Au 
Louvre  "  and  bought  me  a  little  paletot  for  forty-two 
francs.  I  don't  like  it  very  well  —  but  I  had  to  get 
something.  My  idea  was  to  put  off  a  thick  coat  to 
buy  in  Leipsic,  for  I  don't  think  the  Parisians  under- 
stand the  subject.  .  .  . 

Always  yours, 

SUSE. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

FRATJ  BIBER'S  ERFURTE-STRASSE,  Tuesday 
evening,  December  3,  1872. 

DEAR  LtrcRETiA  —  ...  Perhaps  the  most  won- 
derful moment  yet  of  our  travels  was  this  P.  M.  when 
I  bade  good-bye  to  Hatty  at  the  corner  of  Schiller- 
strasse  (having  previously  put  Susan  into  a  droshky, 
—  kissed  Carrie  and  Annie,  —  paid  the  bill  and 
"tipped"  the  waiters)  and  walked  off  with  my 
waterproof  over  my  arm,  and  my  umbrella  in  my 
hand,  to  my  new  Wohnung.  .  .  .  When  I  got  here 
I  crossed  my  bridge,  and  the  nice  stout  Dutch  Magd 
came  out  and  let  me  into  my  room,  where  a  fire 
was  in  the  stove  and  the  sun  shining  in  very 
pleasantly.  .  .  . 

All  the  time  we  were  learning  our  way  about 
Weimar,  and  here  I  must  tell  about  it,  for  you  have 
no  idea  how  pretty  it  is.  We  were  at  the  hotel  on 
a  Platz  called  Der  Markt.  ...  Oh!  wonder!  the 
other  side  is  a  huge  paved  place  with  the  Schloss 
on  it  —  that  is  the  Castle  where  the  Herzog  lives ! ! 
Oh!  dear!  I  can't  make  you  know  how  it  looks, 
for,  of  course,  you  won't  believe  it  really  looks  like 
this,  just  within  a  stone's  throw  of  where  I  Ve 
been  living  a  week,  and  that  I  hear  the  clock  strike 
all  the  hours  and  halves  and  quarters,  and  that  the 


98          LETTERS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

Duke's  band  was  playing  the  "  Tannhauser "  while 
we  were  packing  this  morning!  Now  this  Schloss 
kind  of  backs  up  on  the  town,  but  looks  forth  on  a 
broad  and  lovely  park  with  the  Ilm  running  through 
it,  —  and  here  we  can  walk  continually.  The  Ilm 
is  so  like  the  Ashuelot  that  it  might  be  it,  winding 
through  that  wild  country  over  by  West  Mountain, 
—  for  the  Park  is  not  like  the  Public  Garden,  but 
wilder  than  Uncle  Tom  Lee's  woods,  only  a  great 
deal  larger  and  with  graceful  bridges,  arched,  of 
stone,  across  the  river  —  oh,  it's  as  large  as  Brook- 
line —  you  can  walk  miles  in  it.  Sunday  was  a 
warm  spring-like  day,  with  the  frost  coming  out  of 
the  ground ;  Annie  and  I  walked  long  in  these  wind- 
ing paths,  and  plucked  little  English  daisies  still  in 
bloom.  There  is  lovely  sketching  there  —  old  trees 
with  green  moss  on  their  trunks,  stones  and  arches, 
and  running  water.  Who  could  have  thought  it 
would  be  so  lovely.  The  Eathhaus  is  a  pretentious 
ornamented  building,  and  in  front  of  it  is  the  broad 
Marki  —  it  is  all  very  still  here  —  paved  with  hobbly- 
stones  and  next  to  no  side-walks;  and  there  are  in 
all  Weimar  almost  as  few  horses  as  Jerusalem  (which, 
indeed,  it  looks  like,  only  clean).  But  when  we  had 
been  here  several  days,  Susan  called  out  to  me  one 
morning  as  I  was  dressing,  "Look  out  of  window, 
Susie " ;  there  I  beheld  the  whole  place  alive  and 
swarming  with  the  Market,  which  comes  only  twice 
a  week.  We  went  out  and  prowled  about  it.  It  was 
so  exactly  like  a  scene  on  the  stage,  that  when  the 
band  on  the  balcony  of  the  Rathhaus  began  to  play, 
we  felt  as  if  we  must  take  an  attitude  and  begin  to 
sing.  The  women  sate  in  long  rows  with  absurd 
things  to  sell,  like  the  Cairo  shops,  only  more  like 
a  German  picture-book.  I  bought  a  gingerbread  bar, 
and  a  writing-book,  and  two  apples;  and  laughed, 
and  tried  to  talk,  with  the  jolly  women.  The  most 


STUDYING   AKT   IN   EUROPE          99 

dreadful  thing  (to  look  at),  which  they  had  to  sell, 
was  in  a  barrel,  and  was  pink  cabbages  with  a  great 
deal  of  juice.  They  dipped  up  the  red  juice  in  dip- 
pers and  poured  it  into  Seltzer  jugs  for  those  who 
wished  to  buy.  They  sold  lovely  flowers,  but  also 
wreaths  and  crosses  made  out  of  dyed  immortelles 
and  worked  in  with  paper  roses.  There  are  two 
bunches  of  them  in  this  room.  Most  of  the  women 
had  live  geese  sitting  by  them,  and  there  were  a  great 
many  dogs.  Wasn't  that  singular?  What  surprises 
me  more  and  more  about  travellers  is  that  they  bear 
up  so  well  under  the  strangeness  of  these  things,  and 
bravely  avoid  mentioning  them,  while  they  confine 
themselves  to  the  price  of  food. 

Another  morning,  about  nine  o'clock,  we  looked 
out  of  window,  and  saw  a  band  in  uniform  forming 
themselves  in  a  large  circle  under  the  hotel  windows. 
They  played  for  half  an  hour  most  lovely  music. 
When  we  went  down  to  breakfast  we  asked  what  it 
meant,  and  they  said,  "  Oh  it  was  in  honour  of  the 
Mayor  of  the  town.  His  sister  dwells  in  the  hotel, 
so  this  band  comes  often  to  play  before  her."  .  .  . 

In  the  evening  we  went  to  the  "  Meistersinger," 
which  was  delightful;  the  orchestra  is  splendid,  and 
I  enjoyed  the  music  immensely,  although  it  needs 
several  hearings.  It  was  very  well  acted,  in  an  un- 
affected kind  of  Avay,  as  if  the  singers  sought  not 
to  glorify  themselves,  but  the  music  they  were  ren- 
dering, entirely  different  from  the  display  of  Italian 
Stars.  I  can't  give  you  the  sort  of  feeling  I  had,  as 
if  any  body  in  Weimar  would  have  been  willing  to 
get  up  and  help,  and  could  have  done  it  —  that  is, 
partly  because  the  language  is  the  vernacular,  and 
because  all  the  scenery  and  chairs  and  tables  were 
just  like  the  real  ones.  In  one  street  scene  there 
straggled  in  a  little  girl  at  the  back,  quite  in  keeping 
as  to  costume  and  all  that,  so  that  I  thought  she  was 


100    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

part  of  the  opera;  but  she  was  only  a  Weimar  child 
that  had  dropped  in,  I  suppose,  to  see  how  her  par- 
ents were  getting  along. 

I  must  n't  write  such  volumes ;  and  yet  I  must ! 

Yesterday  morning  I  took  my  first  painting-lesson, 
and  lor!  it  is  very  funny.  Professor  Hummel  is 
very  much,  to  look  at,  like  Dr.  Hedge;  and  he  has 
his  "  Atelier,"  as  he  calls  it,  all  about  in  two  little 
parlours.  When  I  went  in,  so  found  I  two  ladies 
puttering  away,  and  a  gentleman  with  his  neatly 
prepared  drawing-board  painting.  (Wouldn't  Ed- 
ward like  it!)  He  proved  to  be  the  Prussian  Am- 
bassador; for  you  must  know  that  there  is  an  Am- 
bassador from  Prussia  to  this  small  Court,  which  is 
much,  I  should  think,  like  having  an  Ambassador 
from  Vermont  in  Delaware.  They  are  all  under  the 
Kaiser,  but  they  do  a  little  "ambassing"  among  them- 
selves. Well,  he  is  a  handsome  man,  a  little  like 
Nathan,  very  hoftich,  and  pretended  he  thought  I 
was  German;  my  Deutsch  was  so  good.  However, 
he  had  then  heard  very  little.  The  Professor  had  got 
me  a  table  and  copy  all  fixed  out,  and  I  sate  down 
to  copy  a  study  of  Rocks  in  Sepia.  Alas,  dear  Herst ! 
this  man's  method  is  totally  different,  and  so  old- 
fashioned  and  arriere!  To  copy  every  darned  line 
in  pencil  before  the  colour ! ! 

Of  course,  I  did  it  so  perfectly  well  that  the  little 
man  was  staggered  —  for  he  asked  me  first  if  it  was 
"  zu  schwer"  and  was  a  little  nettled  when  I  told 
him  I  thought  not;  but  he  had  to  acknowledge  that 
I  zeichnete  seJir  wohl,  und  ~besser  als  die  Damen 
gewohnlich;  however,  he  succeeded  in  picking  out  a 
small  place  where  I  hadn't  drawn  it  just  like  the 
copy;  so  got  India  rubber,  and  had  me  rub  that  part 
out  and  do  it  over  again ! !  He  is  a  worthy  little 
man,  with  only  the  natural  antagonism,  in  which  I 
entirely  sympathise  with  him,  against  anybody  who 


STUDYING   AET   IN   EUROPE        101 

does  pretty  well  to  begin  with.  I  have  a  private 
impression  that  with  Herst's  lights,  I  could  teach 
him  a  great  deal  more  than  he  can  me;  but  I  don't 
want  you  to  let  on  to  any  one  this,  only  let  it  be 
known  that  I  am  taking  of  the  Best  teacher  in 
Weimar,  which  means  the  Best  in  Germany ;  for  this 
is  what  they  really  all  say;  I  don't  feel  at  all  as  if 
I  were  wasting  time,  as  I  don't  in  the  least  object 
to  going  for  once  through  the  conventional  routine. 
Of  course  I  don't  really  think  I  know  more  than  he 
does,  —  and  he  works  extremely  well  in  his  own  way 

—  but  alas,  Herst !  he  looked  at  my  brushes  —  sniffed 
at  all,  especially  at  the  apple  of  Herst's  eye  (which 
he  gave  me  as  if  it  were  his  heart's  blood  on  account 
of  its  fine  point)  —  and  said  they  were  none  of  them 
small  enough   (  ! ! )    and  is  now  buying  me  smaller 
ones  to  putter  with.     And,  my  dear,  what  do  you 
think  one  of  the  Frauleins  was  doing?     Tracing  a 
group  of  Ludwig  Richter's  figures,  yes,  with  thin 
paper !  —  blacking  the  back,   and  then  marking   it 
on  to  a  wooden  box  —  how  Nelly  would  scorn  her! 

—  and  then  "  the  Professor  "  came  and  sandpapered 
the  box  himself  where  the  black  had  crocked   it! 
Funny  to  see  Dr.   Hedge  sitting  and  rubbing  old 
sandpaper  on  a  box,  and  having  that  called  "  High 
Art " !    The  Professor  himself  is  painting  away  on  a 
great  allegoric  oil-picture  with  temples  and  cactuses 
in  it — -and  he  sits  smoking  and  painting,  but  occa- 
sionally starts  up  and  takes  the  tour  of  the  rooms, 
tellsi  me  to  make  more  lines,  tells  the  Oesandte  that 
Hooker's  green  won't  do  for  his  Tannen-trees,  sand- 
papers the  box,  etc.,  etc.     It  must  be  just  like  Mr. 
D.'s  classes.     But  in  the  midst  he  went  off  and  had 
Fruhstuck  in  the  next  room  with  his  family.     Evi- 
dently there  was  company ;  for  we  heard  much  clank- 
ing of  forks  and  talking,  —  and  the  Gesandie  kept 
groaning  at  the  long  breakfast,  because  he  had  got 


102    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

stuck.  The  Professor  popped  in  his  head  from  time 
to  time,  criticised  all,  and  went  back  to  his  Fruh- 
stucTc.  His  small  son  was  in  the  room,  eating  prezels 
and  things,  and  came  and  proffered  me  two  roast 
chestnuts.  That's  all  about  that.  .  .  .  Write  like 
dragons. 

Yrs., 
SUSIE. 

To  Miss  LTTCRETIA  P.  HALE 

AND 
CHARLES  HALE 

WEIMAR,  SAXE,  GERMANY,  Sunday  morning, 
December  15,  1872. 

DEAR  LFCRETIA  AND  CHARLES,  —  "  Brief e,  Brief e, 
gnadiges  Fraulein"  calls  the  stout  Elise,  apparently 
in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and  I  come  with  alacrity 
out  of  my  singular  little  bed,  and  find  that  it  is  really 
nine  o'clock  and  beginning  to  be  light,  and  that  fire 
and  coffee  and  letters  are  waiting.  To  wit:  yours 
of  Thanksgiving  Day,  and  Charley's  brief  enclosing 
one.  .  .  . 

I  am  getting  more  or  less  settled,  but  am  not  yet 
in  routine,  which  I  very  much  wish  to  establish,  for 
at  present  things  are  conducted  much  in  the  hurry- 
skurry  method  of  91  Boylston  Street.  It  seemed  a 
fatality  to  be  dressing  for  the  Von  Gross  spree  in 
wild  haste,  and  hooking  up  that  black  silk,  as  it 
always  is  fastened,  with  desperate  inattention,  while 
searching  for  gloves  and  seizing  handkerchief.  The 
days  are  very  short,  —  and  you  see  it  makes  more  to 
do  when  you  wish  to  sacrifice  much  to  the  language. 
I  consider  that  I  am  "  fattening "  the  time  when  I 
am  merely  talking  with  my  sweet  little  Frau  Biber. 
She  is  so  nice.  Is  it  not  nice  that  she  is  nice  ?  The 
Germans  use  "  nette  "  a  great  deal.  It  corresponds 


STUDYING  AKT   IN  EUROPE        103 

to  " gentil"  in  French,  and  "nice"  in  English. 
Laux!  this  German  —  it  is  fearfully  hard.  But  I 
must  concentrate. 

I  don't  think  you  understand  about  my  Singular 
Bed.  It  is  so  small  that  our  Single  Beds  in  Brooldine 
were  Giants  to  it.  In  fact  it  has  occurred  to  me  to 
say  that  while  those  were  single,  this  is  single-er.  Do 
you  recall  the  furniture  in  wooden  boxes,  particularly 
one  set  I  had  in  the  Baby  House.  It  was  the  very 
bed  that  Sealingwax  had  in  her  room  at  Mrs.  Winder- 
mere's,  until  her  father,  Charles,  made  another  bed 
out  of  cigar-box,  with  dark-green  cotton  velvet  glued 
on  it,  for  her.  Then  it  was  moved  down  into  Nut- 
ting's room.  Well  that  is  my  bed ;  and  there  is  also 
a  washstand  just  like  the  washstand  that  came  with 
that.  There  is  a  very  good  mattress  in  this  little 
trough,  slanted  up  at  the  head.  Then  a  wobbly  pil- 
low with  red  ticking  and  no  pillow-case.  Then  there 
is  a  thick  quilted  comforter,  which  has  white  cotton 
buttoned  round  it,  so  that  the  under  side  is  white, 
and  the  top  looks  like  this  —  Well  ?  — 

Well,  —  don't  you  see  that  big  (.)  there  ?  That  is 
all!  That  is  all  the  bed  arrangement,  —  except  the 
Poultice  or  Eider-down  Thing  which  is  the  size  of 
the  Bed,  but  which  no  feller  can  sleep  under  without 
being  turned  to  jelly.  The  Bed  is  never  made  up  at 
all;  that  is  I  find  this  red  thing  neatly  folded  up 
on  the  foot  of  the  entirely  bare  bed.  Then  must  I 
tuck  it  in  all  round,  or  it  falls  off  in  the  course  of 
the  night,  which  is  why  I  always  wear  my  purple 
dressing-gown  to  bed,  and  such  other  clothing  as  the 
weather  seems  to  require.  .  .  . 

But  I  must  tell  about  the  party  at  the  Von  Gross's. 
I  think  it  was  made  for  me ;  but  nobody  exactly  says 
so,  and  I  don't  know  whether  they  take  it  for  granted 
that  such!  was  the  case  or  not.  Anyhow  I  got  myself 
up  with!  my  best  back  hair,  black  silk,  and  three- 


104    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

buttoned  gloves  (ours  are  the  only  ones  in  Weimar), 
and  at  eight  with  a  somewhat  low  heart  I  repaired 
to  the  spot.  Frau  Biber  was  invited,  but  she  never 
goes  anywhere.  The  Van  G.'s  live  au  premier. 
'Numerous  servants  in  white  chokers  threw  open 
doors,  and  a  neat  maid,  in  a  small  room  full  of  rows 
of  pegs,  took  my  things  and  hung  them  on  the  same. 
It  is  a  series  of  rooms  en  etage,  and  reminded  me  so 
of  our  Alexandria  parties.  I  shook  hands  with  Herr 
and  Frau  von  G.  and  was  introduced  to  Fraulein 
von  G.,  sister  to  Herr,  a  very  plain,  German-looking 
woman  of  forty,  perhaps,  dressed  in  a  green  satin, 
quite  flat  behind,  but  sumptuous.  Everybody  that 
came  in  asked  to  be  introduced  to  me,  and  I  talked 
in  German  with  them ;  among  others  were  three  gen- 
tlemen, whom  we  had  always  seen  at  the  table  d'hote 
at  the  hotel,  and  I  thought  it  spoke  well  for  the  ele- 
gance of  foreign  manners  that  they  all  sprang  forward 
and  asked  Frau  von  G.  to  introduce  them  to  me,  as  if 
they  wished  thus  to  sanctify  the  slight  nodding  ac- 
quaintance. One  was  an  Englishman  of  a  rather 
ordinary  type,  another,  an  Old  Wig  of  great  impor- 
tance in  Weimar,  and  the  third,  a  Heavenly  Officer  in 
great  gold  epaulettes  from  Altona.  With  all  of  these 
I  talked  and  exulted  in  showing  the  Englishman 
(whom  I  despise)  how  fast  my  German  has  got  on. 

My  dear,  I  was  introduced  to  at  least  twenty-five 
Germans,  —  most  of  them  sort  of  Kays  and  Tods  like 
the  Alexandria  people.  The  pleasantest  was  Herr 
Berlow  who  is  the  Editor  of  the  Weimar  Zeitung, 
but  a  Great  Man,  with  an  order  in  his  coat;  then 
there  was  a  grey  little  man  who  I  think  is  literary, 
for  he  talked  about  Longfellow,  and  was  pretty  well 
up  on  our  country.  They  all  declare  that  Greeley 
is  dead,  and  that  they  have  read  about  his  funeral. 

There  were  different  rooms,  and  there  seemed  to 
be  a  sort  of  order  of  progression,  for  Herr  von  G. 


STUDYING   ART   IN   EUROPE        105 

kept  coming  and  poking  me  up,  and  putting  me  in 
another  room.  They  sate  round  a  table  in  each 
room,  and  at  each  I  was  introduced  to  the  circle, 
and  then  held  forth  (in  German!)  to  the  circle,  fall- 
ing afterwards  into  talk  with  my  next  neighbour. 
You  must  know  that  the  Erb-Prinz  has  just  started 
for  Egypt,  and  so  I  have  a  great  card  in  my  Egyp- 
tian Reise,  —  for  they  look  with  peculiar  interest  on 
that  subject.  To  ascend  the  Pyramids  and  describe 
the  Camel  in  German!  They  are  more  amazed  here 
than  in  America  —  and  Egypt  really  seems  here  far- 
ther off  —  for  most  of  the  people  here  have  never 
been  in  Leipsic  —  which  is  two  hours  off  by  railway, 
—  and  as  for  Paris !  —  nobody.  They  think  I  am  a 
furchtbarre  Reiserinn.  .  .  . 

My  other  piece  de  resistance,  of  course,  is  the  Von 
Gersdorffs,  and  I  hold  forth  about  them  to  all  these 
people  —  and  also  the  Boston  Fire,  and  whether  the 
Von  Gersdorffs  were  probably  burnt  up  in  it.  ... 
Well,  I  was  talking  to  a  very  gabble-tonguey  man  who 
was  very  illegible,  when  there  was  kind  of  a  move 
made,  —  as  if  for  supper,  and  Gabble  Tongue  offered 
his  arm,  —  and  we  stood  up,  but  hung  back,  —  for 
Precedence,  of  course;  but  it  soon  appeared  that  I 
was  expected ;  and  in  another  room  we  found  a  little 
table  set  with  eight  plates  only,  and  I  was  motioned 
to  one  end,  while  Fraulein  von  G.  took  the  other. 
We  sat  as  by  cut: 

..'  Fraulein  V.  Gross 


Herr? 

o                          o                           o 

Herr? 

Frau? 

o               Bottle 

Frau? 

Herr  Gabble 

o             of  wine             0 

Herr  Berlow 

Tongue? 

0 

The  conversation  was  general  at  first,  but  my  men 
both  talked  to  me.     At  last  when  they  were  all  jab- 


106    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

bering  together  I  couldn't  follow  at  all  —  very  be- 
wildering. We  had  salad  and  pate  de  foie  g.  handed 
round  —  but  pray  don't  think  anything  tastes  or  looks 
as  at  home !  —  and  af terwards  ice-cream,  and  white 
and  red  wine,  and  tumblers  of  lager  beer,  constantly 
replenished.  Meanwhile  all  the  others  sat  about  the 
other  tables,  and  were  fed,  but  from  trays  with  plates 
brought  to  them,  I  think,  as  in  America.  Ours  was 
the  only  previously  set  table. 

By  and  by  all  pushed  back  their  chairs,  and  then 
all  bowed  and  curtseyed  to  each  other  and  said  a  little 
Pater  Noster  of  some  sort.  It  was  just  like  balance 
to  corners  and  turn,  for  they  shook  hands  with  each, 
and  then  went  to  another.  I  supposed  we  were  all 
going  home,  but,  on  the  contrary,  after  they  got  over 
doing  it  to  everybody,  the  spree  went  on.  Was  it  not 
singular  and  alarming  ?  Pretty  soon  everybody  began 
to  go.  I  made  my  adieux,  had  a  few  sweet  words 
with  my  officer,  found  Elise  below,  and  walked  home 
with  her.  Forgot  to  say  that  tea  was  constantly 
handed  round  all  the  time  and  strange  kinds  of  little 
cakes.  .  .  . 

Lots  of  love  —  and  merry  Christmas,  if  this  comes 
in  time. 

YOTJR  SUSIE. 


To  Miss  MART  B.  DINSMOOR 

WEIMAR,  Wednesday  evening, 

December  18,  1872. 

MY  DEAR  MARY,  —  In  this  dreadful  land,  every 
moment  not  devoted  to  the  fearful  language  is  a 
waste  of  time;  and,  therefore,  every  English  letter 
a  wicked  indulgence,  but  I  am  about  to  plunge  my- 
self in  that  dissipation,  for  my  Soul  has  been  going 
out  to  you  through  the  cracks  of  irregular  German 
verbs  for  some  time,  —  in  fact,  at  intervals  ever  since 


STUDYING  ART   IN  EUROPE       107 

I  received  your  letter,  which,  it  was  angelic  to  write 
and  most  refreshing  to  receive.  Go  and  do  likewise. 

In  Weimar,  I  think  of  George's  comment  on  Min- 
nesota,—  it  would  be  easy  to  tell  them  what  the 
fashions  were  three  years  hence.  They  don't  wear 
big  hoops,  because  big  hoops  have  not  yet  come  to 
them,  and  their  dresses  are  long,  —  not  because  Mrs. 
Gordon  Dexter  draggles  hers,  but  because  they  have 
never  been  short.  They  speak  of  Beads  as  a  fashion 
to  come.  If  I  knew  the  German  for  it  I  should  say, 
"  Good  Lord,  my  dears,  I  have  just  been  through  with 
that,  and  luckily  have  brought  a  few." 

But  you  don't  want  to  hear  about  Weimar  fashions, 
—  only  I  thought  of  George.  And  is  it  not  curious, 
when  they  are  so  near  dear  delightful  Paris,  that 
they  are  so  in  the  dark  concerning  her  habits  ?  It 's 
very  like  some  little  boys  that  have  caught  a  Bull  in 
a  rabbit-trap.  They  don't  darst  to  go  near  him,  and 
they  leave  him  out  in  the  barn  where  they  found  him, 
but  they  think  it's  very  fine  all  the  same  to  have  a 
Caught  Bull.  Excuse  the  mixed  nature  of  this 
simile.  If  I  hadn't  forgotten  the  English  expres- 
sions, I  would  make  it  better.  We  had  Hare  for 
dinner  to-day  (speaking  of  Bulls).  He  was  served 
skinned  but  roasted,  with  his  little  back  bone  and 
hind  legs.  Awful  good !  So  is  Beer-soup,  sweet,  with 
cinnamon  in  it. 

I  take  it  for  granted  that  you  get  snatches  of  my 
letters  from  time  to  time,  and  are  therefore  aware  of 
my  being,  doing,  and  suifering  (grammar  again! 
psh!).  I  ought  to  have  written  you  from  Paris,  for 
I  thought  of  you  there  very  often,  and  it  was  very 
blissful  to  be  there  so  long,  and  to  talk  their  lovely 
idle  language,  which,  as  it  seems,  in  comparison  with 
this  terrific  tongue, 

"  Gentlier  on  the  spirit  lies 
Than  tired  eyelids  upon  tired  eyes." 


108    LETTEES  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

I  believe  all  my  correspondents  will  think  I  make 
a  most  uncommon  fuss  about  this  German  language, 
and  upon  my  word,  I  will  say  no  more  about  it. 
Mind,  I  Ve  got  it,  now,  so  that  I  can  do  everything 
in  it,  and  am  the  wonder  of  Weimar  for  my  Fort- 
schritt;  but  I  continue  to  think  it's  damned  hard. 
So  is  my  Bed;  and  I  hate  them  both.  Everything 
else  in  Germany  I  like,  and  when  I  get  used  to  the 
above  exceptions  I  '11  let  you  know. 

Weimar  is  the  Keene  of  Germany.  I  keep  saying 
to  myself,  "  There  now  that  is  just  like  Keene."  So 
select,  so  self-possessed,  esthetic,  and  small,  and  yet 
it  is  not  like  Keene  to  have  a  regular  wind-mill  up 
on  a  hill  behind  the  house,  and  a  Schloss  with  tin, 
I  mean  real,  soldiers,  standing  in  front  all  the  time, 
and  a  theatre.  But  would  it  not  be  good  fun  to  have 
a  theatre  in  Keene?  Your  father,  now,  might  set 
up  a  theatre.  This  belongs  to  the  Grand  Duke,  and 
he  pays  the  salaries  of  all  the  actors  and  -tresses. 
Naturally  he  has  it  all  his  own  way,  and  naturally 
also  the  price  of  tickets  is  small.  Is  it  not  ridiculous 
that  I  have  a  season  ticket  ?  I  and  one  of  the  other 
girls.  The  tickets  are  brought  to  this  house  every 
morning,  with  the  Zettel,  which  means  play-bill,  and 
the  bill  for  Sunday  has  the  plays  for  the  week  at  the 
bottom.  .  .  . 

There 's  another  respect  that  makes  Weimar  like 
Keene!  Men  are  skurce!  The  popular  report  says 
forty-five  single  females  and  three  men.  Strangely 
like  Brookline,  also!  But  no  one  would  think  it  to 
see  the  prdchtige  epaulettes  every  evening  at  the 
theatre.  However,  I  am  told  that  these  come  over 
from  Erfurt  where  there  is  a  camp,  ...  or  some- 
thing,—  just  as  good,  I  should  think,  for  practical 
purposes.  The  Grand  Duke  is  not  very  good  to  flirt 
with,  because  you  can't  get  at  him.  It 's  rather  mel- 
ancholy about  his  daughters;  they  are  very  liebens- 


STUDYING   ART   IN  EUROPE        109 

wiirdig.,  and  have  good  broad  German  backs  and  not 
uncomely  faces,  —  the  oldest  is  twenty-five,  —  they 
can't  possibly  be  married,  my  dear,  because  there  is 
nobody  in  the  world  of  the  right  rank  for  them. 
Is  n't  that  hard  ?  You  see  it  is  perfectly  well  known, 
for,  of  course,  they  have  their  Gotha  Almanacs  every 
year,  with  all  the  first  families  printed  down  in  it; 
and  a  husband  can't  be  born  all  of  a  sudden  to  them, 
because  now  he  would  be  too  young.  Is  it  not  just 
like  Old  Maid  when  only  two  are  playing  ?  Of  course 
you  know  exactly  when  you  've  got  the  card.  Some- 
body's wife  might  die,  to  be  sure,  and  there  is  an  old 
cove  about  sixty-nine  years  old,  who  has  just  lost 
his  fourth  wife,  the  Prince  of  Hockenpockenhaus  or 
something,  but  Princess  Elizabeth  wont  marry  him. 
So  even  she  has  refused  somebody!  The  princesses 
can't  go  out  alone,  and  they  can't  mix  even  with  the 
Court  circle  familiarly.  They  have  all  their  clothes 
from  Paris,  and  their  Papa,  the  Grand  Duke,  him- 
self, lays  out  every  day  the  dress  he  thinks  proper 
for  them  to  wear.  I  don't  know  whether  they  decide 
about  their  own  stockings  or  not. 

To  return  to  the  men ;  it 's  very  well  that  my  days 
of  heeding  that  sex  are  over,  I  encounter  so  few  of 
them.  I  have  established  a  passing  weakness  for  an 
officer  from  Altona  who  was  at  the  hotel ;  and  after- 
wards became  introduced  to  me  at  a  party.  I  am 
told  he  is  "  munter,"  and  he  is  very  tall  with  lovely, 
lovely  epaulettes.  I  can't  help  wishing  to  be  em- 
braced by  him  to  see  where  they  would  bump, — but 
as  yet  he  is  rather  afraid  of  me  and  my  German,  I 
fear. 

Good-bye,  my  dear  Mary,  I  must  fix  my  hair  for 
the  opera.  Don't  show  this  letter  to  too  many,  for 
it  is  silly,  on  purpose,  partly  to  relax  my  German 
mind,  and  partly  to  make  you  laugh,  which  I  wish 
I  could  hear  and  see  you  do  it.  If  I  conclude  to  send 


110    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

for  Lucretia  and  live  here  always  you  will  come  and 
visit  us,  won't  you  ?    Meantime  write. 

Your  always  remembering, 
SUSIE  HALE. 


To  Miss  LUCEETIA  P.  HALE 

Merry  Christmas! 
WEIMAR,  December  25, 1872. 

Lord !  Pardon,  my  dear  Lucretia,  the  strength  of 
the  expression.  It  seems  justified,  as  I  hope  you 
will  agree  later,  by  the  occasion. 

You  see  the  Biber  Christmas,  in  this  house,  was 
all  knocked  in  the  head,  because  Gertrud  has  the 
measles.  No  sooner  was  this  known  in  Weimar  than 
all  were  aroused  to  be  sure  I  did  not  lose  my  Christ- 
mas. First  Frau  Hummel  (wife  of  the  Professor) 
asked  me  to  come  to  their  family  tree.  When  I  got 
home,  I  found  Frau  Hettstedt,  who  lives  up-stairs, 
had  asked  me  to  her  tree ;  and  it  turned  out  she  felt 
so  dreadfully  bad  at  my  not  coming  that  it  was  ar- 
ranged I  should  go  first  to  that  tree  and  the  Hummel 
tree  afterwards.  Then  sweet  Aunt  Manderode  came 
and  asked  me  to  their  tree,  which,  of  course,  I 
couldn't;  so  am  to  dine  there  to-day,  instead,  and 
Frau  von  Gross  would  have  invited  me  to  her  tree  if 
she  hadn't  understood,  etc.,  etc.  The  Waitz  family 
hoped  I  would  come  to  their  tree,  and  the  Feltz 
family  were  sorry  I  couldn't  come  to  their  tree. 
My  dear,  every  human  being  has  a  tree.  It  makes 
no  difference  whether  there  are  children  in  the 
family. 

The  market-place  and  principal  streets  have  been 
full  for  a  day  or  two  of  Tannenbaums  leaning  up 
against  the  houses.  I  should  think  the  whole  Thur- 
ingian  Forest  would  be  laid  waste  to  supply  Weimar 
alone.  The  girls  were  to  go  out  at  six  to  seven  last 


STUDYING  AET   IN  EUROPE       111 

evening  and  walk  along  the  streets  to  see  a  tree  in 
every  house  —  a  pretty  sight;  but  my  engagements 
didn't  permit.  .  .  . 

I  got  myself  up  richly  in  my  Vigogne,  with  pink 
bows,  and  at  six  went  up  to  the  Hettstedts'.  She,  you 
know,  is  the  leading  lady  at  the  theatre,  and  he  is 
the  Warren  (and  last  Sunday  evening  in  a  burlesque 
danced  the  "  Cachucha "  in  a  short  pink  satin  with 
black  lace;  stuffed  to  be  fatter  than  Mrs.  Jarley), 
but  Frau  H.  is  a  very  refined  little  woman,  and  I 
think  is  a  little  sensitive  about  her  spouse's  position. 
Off  the  stage  he  is  very  pleasant,  and  kind  of  pathetic, 
because  she  snubs  him  a  little  mite.  They  have  a 
son  Emile,  fourteen  years  old,  and  he  had  a  friend 
present  at  the  tree.  No  one  else  was  there  when  I 
arrived,  but  soon  in  came,  with  great  noise  and  laugh- 
ter, Fr.  Loth  and  Fr.  Something-else,  both  Schau- 
spielerinne  in  the  theatre,  the  first  a  prominent  one 

that  plays  the  young  heroine.  It  was  kind  of  a  B 

H set,  don't  you  see,  only  that  in  Weimar,  they 

lose  no  caste  at  all  by  being  actors.  It 's  as  if  I  and 
Nat.  Childs  ran  the  Globe  and  continued  to  dine  with 
Mrs.  John  Lowell.  Both  these  Frauleins  had  short 
frowsly  hair,  though  on  the  stage  they  have  every 
sort  of  postiche  and  chignon  to  suit  the  part.  They 
were  a  little  rantipole,  and  said,  "Ach!  du  lieber 
Gott"  even  more  than  the  Manderodes  and  Bibers. 

In  a  little  while  the  tree  was  ready,  and  it  was 
sweet  pretty;  but  they  did  not  pretend  to  look  at  it 
much;  in  fact,  there  had  been  no  concealment;  for 
the  boys  themselves  had  geputzt  it,  and  there  was  no 
locking  of  doors  and  bursting  in.  It  looked  just  like 
our  trees ;  although  Frl.  Ludt  said,  "  Of  course  in 
America  you  can  have  only  imitation  Tannenbaums" 
thinking  that  the  American  trees  all  grow  of  paste- 
board. The  tree  had  lights  and  balls  and  candy  on 
it ;  and  the  presents  for  each  were  set  about  on  tables. 


112         LETTERS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

I  think  Emile  had  seen  his  before.  Herr  H.  appar- 
ently had  none.  The  Frauleins  had  sweet  things  laid 
out  for  them.  I  thought  them  rather  rude;  for 
though  they  cried,  "  Ach!  du  lieber  Gott.,"  and  "  wun- 
derschon"  they  said  generally  that  they  had  got  the 
things  before.  Frau  HI  looked  at  her  pile  with  in- 
terest. She  had  a  black  moreen  petticoat  and  a  fire- 
rug  ;  —  and  a  pen  wiper  made  out  of  a  little  black 
doll,  and  dressed  gaudily,  which  they  all  thought 
was  "rei&end,"  and  a  bottle  of  "  Rancher pulver" 
which  you  sprinkle  on  their  stoves  to  partially  avert 
a  kind  of  burnt  iron  smell  inherent  in  their  natures. 
Were  not  these  touching  things?  More,  but  in  the 
same  sort 

Now  they  brought  out  champagne,  of  which  we 
drank  a  good  deal  —  and  ate  PfefferJcuchen  and  little 
cakes  cut  out  in  odd  shapes,  cocks  and  dogs,  men,  etc. 
I  had  to  leave  before  Tisch,  which  occurred  later.  I 
had  a  great  deal  of  talk  with  Frl.  Loth.  She  reads 
English  novels  with  great  gout.  You  've  no  idea  how 
hard  it  is  to  understand  their  English  words.  She 
said  she  liked  very  much  "  Ai  dotto  Roovecht,"  but 
she  didn't  exactly  understand  the  meaning  of  the 
title.  I  made  her  repeat  it  frequently,  and  finally 
leaped  upon  "A  daughter  of  Heth,"  —  which  was 
right,  —  and  I  explained  to  her  about  Heth  being 
in  the  Old  Testament,  a  work  which,  doubtless,  she 
has  not  carefully  perused  in  any  language.  Well,  we 
parted  with  expressions  of  mutual  esteem,  and  I 
hasted  to  the  Hummel  occasion,  where  I  was  to  be 
at  eight  sharp.  As  I  reached  the  house  I  heard  a 
great  uproar,  and  it  turned  out  that  the  Grand- 
mother's tree  was  not  quite  done  with,  so  I  was  in- 
vited in  to  that,  although  previously  only  by  the  Frau 
Professorin.  The  Grandmother  lives  unter;  and 
there  was  great  jinks  going  on.  Hatty  James  was 
there.  A  tree  just  like  the  Hettstedts'  —  but  all  the 


STUDYING  AET   IN   EUROPE        113 

presents  in  piles,  just  like  our  New  Year's,  and  all 
the  Verwandten  screaming  and  carrying  on,  exactly 
as  we  used  to;  how  it  reminded  me  of  it. 

"  See  my  lovely  Kragen! "  —  "  Have  you  seen  my 
pile  ? "  "  Look  at  this  Brioche,  the  Grossmutter 
made  it  selbst"  —  all  at  the  top  of  their  lungs.  It 
is  so  nice  of  them  to  have  such  touching  things.  Each 
of  the  Erauleins  had  a  new  gown,  Merino,  nicely 
trimmed,  and  Johanna  had  made  and  trimmed  a  hat, 
black  velvet  with  a  rose  for  Gustel —  and  the  boy 
that  goes  next  week  to  Leipsic,  whence  he  will  only 
come  back  next  Christmas  for  the  holidays  (it  is  two 
hours  by  the  train!)  had  a  trunk;  and  new  trousers 
and  a  knife,  and  six  pocket-handkerchiefs  marked  in 
red.  Everybody  had  a  packet  of  Pfefferkuchen, — 
and  there  was  no  end  of  worsted-work.  My  dear, 
there  is  not  a  horizontal  line  in  Germany  that 
has  n't  got  a  lambrequin  on  it !  Were  they  not  sweet 
things?  and  the  family  were  all  so  sweet  to  Hatty 
and  me,  "  Liebe  Miss  Hale,  have  you  seen  my  Korb 
that  Tante  Anna  gave  me  ? "  Can  you  live  to  hear 
that  there  was  a  fly-flapper  embroidered  out  of  the 
Bazaar  ?  In  that  snipped-out  flannel  of  different 
colours,  with  sewing-silk  gestickt  style.  It's  just  as 
we  always  said;  they  live  and  move  and  have  their 
being  in  the  Bazaar. 

Soon  we  walked  off  and  left  that  tree  (oh,  the  Help 
came  in,  one  woman,  and  the  girls  quietly  gave  her 
her  things,  just  like  us !  —  a  collar  and  sleeves,  and 
apron,  etc.)  and  went  up-stairs  to  the  Professor 
Hummel  house  —  and  here  was  another  tree.  The 
funny  thing  is  that  they  don't  themselves  take  the 
slightest  notice  of  the  Tree;  and  when  we  politely 
stand  back  and  praise  it,  they  say,  "  Oh,  yes,  I  sup- 
pose you  don't  have  them  in  America,"  much  as  if 
we  should  break  out  in  admiration  of  the  side  of 
a  house.  Fact  is  the  Germans  have  no  politeness. 


114    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

I  find  it  a  fearful  misfortune  that  they  cannot  lie, 
under  any  pressure  of  circumstances.  It  might  be 
said  that  their  constant  use  of  " reizend"  and 
"  wunderschon "  was  an  exception ;  but  I  'm  confi- 
dent that  these  words  have  no  more  real  force  than 
"rather  pretty"  with  us.  But  they  were  all  in  a 
hurry  to  see  their  piles,  for  each  had  here  another 
pile.  I  don't  know  exactly  how  this  was  managed, 
but  I  guess  these  piles  were  what  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pro- 
fessor gave.  But  we  can't  get  on  farther  without  a 
Genealogy. 

Downstairs  lives: 

Grossmutter  Hummel,  cet.  80!  with  her  two 
Grandchildren,  Johanna,  cet.  27  (teaches  Hatty 
German),  and  Gustel,  cet.  21. 

Up-stairs  lives: 

Professor  Hummel,  son  to  G.  Mutter,  with  his 
Frau,  his  son,  Karl,  15,  and  his  son  Wilhelm,  6. 

Guests : 

1.  Frau  Harkmudt,  sister  to  Frau,  cet.  55. 

2.  Her  son  (  ?)  cet.  21,  and  3.  (  ?)  cet.  17. 

4.  Frau  Red-nose  (I  don't  know  her  other  name), 
also  sister  to  Frau,  cet.  52. 

5.  Her  daughter  Anna,  26,  betrothed  to 

6.  Herr  Schmit,  who  sat  next  her  at  table  often 
with  his  arm  round  her  waist  with  no  concealment, 
and  who  was  always  addressed  and  spoken  of  as  der 
Brdutigam! 

7.  Frau  Genercdin  ,  another  sister  to  Frau, 

cet.  60,  and  more  gorgeous,  with  rather  fine  manners. 

8.  I    most    forgot    old    Grossmutter    Harkmudt, 
very  shaky,  who  sate  beside  the  other  Grossmutter. 
Harkmudt  himself  is  deceased. 

There,  I  think  I  've  got  them  pretty  well.    Harriet 
and  I  were  nine  and  ten,  and  besides  I  have  not 


STUDYING   ART   IN   EUROPE        115 

numbered  the  family.  You  see  it  made  a  goodly 
crowd.  Bless  me,  I  've  forgotten  "  The  Frommenac," 
who  is  bosom  friend  to  Jo-nanny  Hummel  and  the 
most  conspicuous  of  all.  I  thought  her  odious.  She 
has  been  the  leading  singer  in  opera  here,  but  has 
now  retired  to  Jieirathen.  A  stout,  noisy,  short- 
haired  person  who  talked  fearfully  loud.  But  they 
all  screamed,  and  all  talked  at  once.  So  did  we,  I 
remember,  at  Thanksgivings.  They  all  called  her 
"die  Frommenac"  thus:  " Ach!  du  lieber  Gott!  die 
Frommenac!  Sie  muss  ein  bischen  mehr  Gurke!" 
I  've  got  ahead  of  myself  and  to  Tisch,  which  was 
wrong;  because  that  omits  the  sweet  Professor  pre- 
senting me,  with  a  bow  and  pretty  speech,  Ludwig 
Richter's  "Summer" — wasn't  it  lovely!  and  to 
Harriet,  a  box  of  bonbons.  He  himself  had  lots 
of  outside  things.  A  liqueur-stand,  the  image  of 
Charley's,  from  Frl.  Pappenheim,  one  of  the  paint- 
students,  accompanied  by  verses  in  German,  which 
der  Brautigam  read  aloud,  very  badly.  How  they 
screamed!  and  cried,  "Reizend!"  The  little 
"Willy"  (so  they  call  him!)  had  millions  of  pew- 
ter-soldiers, in  wooden  boxes.  In  his  pile,  and 
Karl's,  were  bright  new  thaler  pieces,  —  from  some 
Uncle  Alexander,  I  suppose,  don't  you  ?  The  Frau 
Professorin  had  a  set  of  night  Jackchen  made  by  a 
niece,  etc.,  etc.  But  I  must  get  on.  Pretty  soon  we 
sate  down  to  a  long  table.  The  Professor  put  me  and 
Harriet  on  either  side  of  himself.  You  know  I  think 
it  was  lovely  of  them  to  have  us  —  and  when  I  say 
there 's  no  politeness,  I  mean  as  well  that  the  things 
they  do  do  and  say  come  right  straight  out  of  kind 
hearts.  There  was  great  screaming  and  yelling  about 
dividing  the  males,  but  the  boys  all  wanted  to  sit 
together,  and  it  was  finally  fixed  with  a  great  deal 
of  Grandmother  settled  at  the  bottom,  or  one  end, 
and  a  frothy  mass  of  boys  at  the  other.  We  were  at 


116    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

the  middle  side,  and  the  Frommenac  directly  oppo- 
site. Der  Brdutigam  next  Anna,  and  frequently 
hugging  her  —  but  all  very  decorous.  Such  a  meal. 
First  came  raw  oysters,  a  great  rarity,  so  far  from  the 
sea  —  but  very  good.  (They  all  eat  with  their 
knives,  don't  tell,  and  have  only  steel  forks  —  very 
handsome  ones  like  our  old  best  ones.  There  is  a 
little  fence  by  the  side  of  every  plate  where  they  sit 
(the  knife  and  fork)  between  courses,  and  are  never 
changed ! ) 

Then  came  macaroni,  done  with  cheese.  Long 
pauses  between  each  —  but  lots  of  white  wine  and 
St.  Julien  to  drink,  and  perpetual  drinking  of 
toasts,  standing  up  and  clinking  glasses,  and  crying, 
"Hoch!" 

Then  came  a  dreadful  thing.  You  must  eat  it  for 
the  Grossmutter  selbst  made  it,  and  was  with  the 
cook  (or  in  the  kitchen,  I  don't  know  which,  the 
words  are  so  near  alike)  twelve  hours,  —  and  if  you 
eat  it  at  Christmas  you  have  viel  Geld  all  the 
year.  Herring  Salad,  —  a  spatted-down,  chopped-up, 
worked-over,  messy  fearful  combination  of  poor  sar- 
dines and  beets  and  raisins  and  pickle  and  oil,  and 
perhaps  veal,  bologna  sausage,  etc.,  etc. 

Must  be  helped  twice.  It  reminded  me  of  the 
Hassan  wedding  and  your  pocket.  The  elder  Hark- 
mudt  youth  rose  and  made  this  speech,  "  Ladies  and 
Gentlemen,  inasmuch  as  it  has  been  insinuated  that 
I  and  my  brother  have  stated  that  we  feared  that  the 
Herring  Salad  this  year  would  not  be  equal  to  the 
Herring  Salad  of  previous  years,  I  wish  to  pronounce 
this  a  foul  slander,  and  to  declare  that  I  never 
doubted  for  an  instant  the  continued  prowess  of  the 
Grossmutter  in  making  Herring  Salad;  and  that 
now,  having  tasted  the  Herring  Salad,  I  assert  that 
it  is  the  Best  Herring  Salad  that  the  Grossmutter 
has  ever  made,  and  I  propose  again  the  health  of  the 


STUDYING  AKT   IN  EUROPE       117 

Grossmutter."  Most  of  the  younkers  got  up  and 
ran  to  clink  glasses  with  the  G.  M.  and  they  all 
yelled  "Herring  Salad!"  Herring  Salad  is  the 
Marlborough  Pie  of  the  family  evidently.  Was  it 
not  delightful  ?  This  is  only  an  instance  of  the 
speeches  and  jeers. 

Next  came  a  regular  piece  of  roast  beef  sirloin, 
deliciously  roasted,  which  the  Brautigam  cut  up, 
after  which  the  great  slices  were  passed  round.  It 
tasted  awful  good  —  for  I  have  n't  had  any  real  beef 
here.  What  they  call  beefsteak  is  a  kind  of  croquet, 
it  seems  to  me.  We  ate  it  with  potato  and  gravy  and 
pickles,  and  "  Compot,"  which  is  8arce  of  different 
kinds,  in  a  little  plate  at  the  side. 

That  was  all.  Is  it  not  funny  this  not  having  any 
pudding  course? 

By  this  time  the  Frommenac,  with  much  urging, 
had  consented  to  sing  —  ah,  no ;  —  but  the  little 
Willy  got  tired  and  left  the  table  and  he  came  and 
got  me  to  look  at  his  tin  soldiers.  In  fact  he  was 
perfectly  devoted  to  me  and  there  was  a  general 
move.  Frau  and  Herr  went  off  and  made  the  punch 
in  the  kitchen,  then  we  all  came  back  to  the  table, 
sat  helter-skelter  about  and  drank  the  punch,  which 
was  good  and  very  strong,  with  much  clinking  of 
glasses.  Then  the  Frammenac  sang  in  another  room, 
not  previously  opened,  which  was  rather  in  a  clutter ; 
but  the  piano  was  there.  She  sang  lovely  German 
words  with  a  fine  contralto  voice,  in  a  bawling  style 
too  dramatic  for  a  parlour.  Then  it  was  eleven 
o'clock,  and  we  came  away,  though  they  urged  us  to 
stay;  but  our  Stout  Marie  and  Elise  were  waiting 
for  us  in  the  kitchen.  We  parted  on  the  doorstep 
with  the  simple  English  expression,  "  Did  you  ever !  " 

When  I  got  home,  lo,  on  my  table  was  a  great  dish 
full  of  Pfefferkuchen,  apples,  nuts,  and  candy;  — 
and  besides  sweet  gifts  from  the  Companions.  They 


118    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 


have  also  trifles  from  me.  So  it  was  quite  late  when 
I  got  to  bed,  and  I  felt  this  morning  rather  Katzen- 
jammerische. 

To-day  is  the  real  Christmas  —  but  you  see  these 
doings  are  all  for  "Heilige  Abend"  There  are,  how- 
ever, three  "  Fest  Tage  "  which  they  call  1st,  2nd,  3rd. 
This  is  Zweite  —  people  go  to  church  and  have  some 
particular  thing  for  dinner;  —  and  all  these  three 
days  the  shops  are  shut.  But  the  great  time  is 
Heilige  Abend. 

That  is  about  all  and  I  must  now  go  and  dress  for 
Frau  v.  M.'s.  If  I  had  time,  of  course,  I  should  be 
low — for  these  Anniversaries  are  very  bad;  but  I 
hope  you  are  all  having  an 
amusing  and  pleasant  time. 
I  'm  glad  there  is  no  German 
for  "  Merry  Christmas !  "  as 
it  w'd  be  likely  to  stick  in  the 
throat.  They  have  no  form 
of  greeting  for  the  day  appar- 
ently. Gw£m-bye,  lots  of 
love. 

Yours  ever, 

SUSIE. 

To  Miss  MAKY  B.  DISTSMOOR 
WEIMAB,  February  19,  1873. 

MY  DEAR  DINSMOOR, The 

only  superiority  of  these 
stoves  over  our  regis- 
k  ters  is  that  you  can 
flatten  yourself  up 
against  them  in  all 
your  length  and  breadth,  as  it  were  upon  the  breast 
of  the  beloved,  when  cold,  or  low  in  the  mind.  In 
this  latter  condition,  as  I  thus  clung  just  now  to  this 


STUDYIXG   AKT   IX   EUROPE        119 

poor  exchange  for  a  sympathetic  bosom,  I  must  think, 
"  What  would  the  Constituents  say  to  see  me  now  ? " 
The  idea  was  sufficient  to  make  me  depict  the  scene 
for  you.  I  can't  imagine  a  more  forlorn  image.  But 
she  would  travel!  The  best  way  really  is  to  flatten 
your  back  to  it. 

Later:  I  have  had  my  nap,  and  had  my  coffee 
with  the  widows,  but  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  suffi- 
ciently in  force  to  write  out  my  long-,  for  you,  con- 
sidered essay  on  "  Why  I  don't  like  Germany."  I  '11 


try  it  and  see,  always  premising  you  know  that  I 
might  write  another,  "  Why  I  do  like  it"  But  this 
is  the 

Don't 

In  the  first  place,  the  Bed.  You  have  none  of  you 
any  true  conception  of  it,  and  Lucretia  has  hinted 
that  she  thinks  she  might  like  it,  —  not  she !  There 's 
a  total  absence  of  tuck  in  to  the  German  bed,  which 
no  effort  can  remedy,  and  I  have  spoiled  my  best 
nail  trying  for  it  in  vain.  (By  the  way  they  take 
not  the  slightest  interest  in  finger  nails.)  Lucretia 
thinks  she  would  like  the  feather  bed  on  top,  but  the 
thing  is,  it  is  so  very  on  top,  while  underneath 
every  blast  of  heaven  howls  and  whistles  all  night, 
as  they  do  round  Park  Street  corner.  First  comes 
a  sort  of  cold  flap-jack,  too  small  and  stiff  to  tuck 
down,  and  on  top  the  feather  bed.  The  picture  seems 
not  clear. 


120    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

a  is  the  feather  bed;  Z>,  the  cold  flap- jack;  c,  a 
vacuum  visited  by  the  winds  of  heaven ;  d,  the  Victim. 

I  may  add  that  this  preparation  is  just  the  thing 
for  chillblains,  and  that  we  are  all  suffering  there- 
with the  torments  of  the  d d.  In  the  morning 

I  am  awaked,  in  this  receptacle,  by  the  clatter  of  the 
door.  I  sleep  in  a  little  dark  closet,  but  that  I  like, 
—  the  little  door  stands  open  into  the  big  room,  and 
Frau  Baier,  Morgen  fruh,  comes  in  to  make  the  fire. 
Her  idea  is  to  do  it  softly.  Her  first  care  is  to  shut 
the  little  door,  which  has  a  peculiar  squawk  only 
attainable  in  Germany.  She  then  clatters  away  at 
the  fire  and  leaves.  There's  a  clumsy  great  lock  on 
the  big  door  and  a  handle  like  a  stop-cock  which 
kills  your  hand  and  spoils  your  glove.  In  about  ten 
minutes  Mrs.  Baier  comes  in  again  to  look  at  the 
fire,  and  goes  out  again.  In  about  five  minutes  Mrs. 
Baier  comes  in  to  get  my  boots  to  clean.  After  five 
minutes  more  she  comes  in  to  bring  back  my  boots. 
That  is  all  she  comes,  unless  she  forgets  something, 
in  which  case  she  comes  once  for  each  thing  she  for- 
gets. Oh,  no,  let  me  tell  you,  she  opens  the  little 
door  with  a  squeak  and  comes  into  my  closet  and 
stealthily  takes  my  water  pitcher  to  fill,  and  brings 
it  back  with  another  squeak  and  clatter. 

Quarter  of  an  hour  later  Elise  begins.  She  don't 
practise  stealthiness,  but  advisedly  makes  as  much 
noise  as  possible.  You  'd  think  it  was  somebody  fall- 
ing off  a  house  with  a  sewing-machine  and  a  trunk, 
five  stories  into  the  street, — but  it's  only  Elise  with 
my  bath-tub,  —  a  regular  wash-tub,  which  by  great 
persistence  I  have  attained  to,  although  all  Weimar 
thinks  me  insane,  and  Mrs.  Baier,  wherever  we  go, 
tells  that  I  wash  myself  all  over  in  cold  water  every 
morning.  "Yes,"  said  an  elderly  lady  last  evening, 
"when  one  is  so  gewohnt  it  is  necessary.  I  used  to 
wash  myself  once  but  I  have  got  over  it  —  "  much  as 


STUDYING  AET   IN  EUROPE       121 

you'd  speak  of  a  person  who,  having  acquired  the 
fatal  habit  of  smoking,  is  obliged  to  leave  it  off 
gradually,  and  not  of  a  sudden.  I  don't  mean  to  say 
but  what  they  are  clean  and  neat  enough,  —  as  a 
general  thing  I  think  they  always  wash  their  faces 
once  a  day  and  their  hands,  say,  twice  a  week,  when 
they  are  going  to  a  party,  but  not  so  often  with  soap. 

Well,  Elise  bangs  the  tub  down  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  stops  and  takes  a  good  stare  at  me,  and  goes  off. 
Shuts  the  little  door,  squeak ;  shuts  big  door,  clatter. 
Comes  back  with  a  pail  full  of  water,  and  da  capo,  — 
stare,  shut  little  door,  squeak,  shut  big  door,  clatter. 
Third  time,  second  pail  of  water,  squeak,  clatter. 

When  I  am  pretty  sure  the  coast  is  clear  I  come 
out,  draw  to  the  little  door  and  proceed  to  bathe.  It 
is  generally  then  that  the  postman  comes.  Walks  in 
(to  the  big  room  only)  without  knocking,  and  leaves 
letter  on  the  table.  My  dear,  they  never  any  of  them 
knock !  and  I  can't  teach  them  to.  I  can  only  suppose 
that  the  reason  is  that  they  are  determined  to  come 
in  whether  I  want  them  to  or  not,  and  therefore  think 
knocking  a  useless  affectation;  for  if  the  door  is 
locked  they  stand  rattling  away  at  the  handle  until 
I  come  out  of  bed,  or  bath,  or  nap,  or  whatever,  and 
let  them  in.  That 's  a  bother,  so  now  I  have  given 
up  locking  the  door.  All  my  party  have  had  the 
same  experience. 

While  I  am  still  in  the  tub,  Elise  comes  again  with 
my  coffee;  and  this  is  very  nice,  that  throwing  on 
a  few  clothes  I  now  come  out,  sip  my  coffee,  munch 
my  bread  and  rejoice  in  my  letters.  This  would 
be  delightful,  but  —  in  walks  Mrs.  Biber  —  without 
knocking  —  and  always  at  a  different  time,  so  you 
never  can  tell  when  to  be  girded  up  for  her,  —  per- 
haps I  am  stark  naked,  in  which  case  she  says,  "  AcJi! 
das  schadet  niclits!"  aber  it  does  schaden  for  me; 
for  although,  as  you  are  well  aware,  I  am  somewhat 


122         LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

loose  about  clothes,  I  will  not  converse  with  a  German 
woman  in  her  own  tongue,  without  any.  She  is  a 
dear  woman,  you  know,  and  I  am  very  fond  of  her, 
but  so  trying  in  the  morning,  when  one  is  just  stag- 
gering under  the  renewed  burden  of  life.  Lucretia 
would  go  mad. 

"  Ach!  liebes  Frdulem!  how  hot  it  is  here." 

"Oh,  do  you  think  so,"  says  Susan,  feebly;  "I 
have  only  just  shut  the  window.  I  thought  it  was 
too  cool." 

"  Nein,  it  is  too  hot." 

Or,  on  the  other  hand, 

"Ach!  liebes  Fra/ulein,  how  imprudent!  You 
have  the  window  open.  It  is  here  schrecklich 
cold." 

"Is  it?  I  thought  it  was  hot  and  opened  the 
window." 

"Nein,  it  is  cold,  bose  Fraidein!"  and  she  goes 
and  shuts  the  window  and  piles  on  more  coal. 

My  dear,  there's  a  finality  about  this  German 
Nein  that  is  appalling.  That  young  man,  you  know, 
that  learned  to  say,  "No,"  has  been  a  good  deal 
cracked  up,  but  our  "  No  "  is  no  negation  at  all  com- 
pared to  this  "  Nein  "  they  have  here.  I  've  got  so 
sensitive  about  it  that  I  try  to  frame  my  sentences 
so  that  they  can't  answer  with  "Nein."  It  comes 
like  a  bucket  of  cold  water  over  the  most  innocent 
inquiry.  "  It 's  quite  muddy  to-day,  don't  you  think 
so?" 

" Nein!    It  is  not  muddy ;  it  is  dry." 

I  never  saw  anything  like  the  point-blank  way  they 
contradict  each  other  as  well  as  me.  We  have  a  civil 
question  mark  after  our  "No"  (nicht  wahr?},  which 
allows  some  reprieve — but  the  Germans  say,  "  Nein." 
See  that  Period?  that's  the  end  of  that  subject,— 
there's  no  appeal.  Tell  them  anything  about  Amer- 
ica, —  how  many  inhabitants  in  New  York,  etc. 


STUDYING   ART   IN   EUROPE        123 

"  Nein  .  .  .  das  ist  nicht  moglich"  And  that  settles 
it.  Ach!  a  narrow-minded  people. 

She  gets  come  up  with  occasionally  and  then  I  'm 
delighted,  —  for  you  know  I  never  can  discuss,  and 
I  leave  her  always  with  her  Nein.  The  other  day  I 
was  rushing  off  to  the  theatre,  and  she  asked  me  to 
wait  for  her  as  she  was  going  out. 

"  Mit  Vergnilgen,  liebe  Frau,  only  it  is  a  little 
late." 

"  Nein,  it  is  not  late."    So  I  waited. 

"Liebe  Frau,  perhaps  you  will  allow  me  to  say 
that  your  clock  is  slow." 

"  Nein.,  it  is  not  slow." 

"  Aber,  liebe  Frau,  excuse  me  for  mentioning  it, 
but  on  account  of  Gertrude  being  late  for  school,  I 
thought  you  would  like  to  know." 

"  Nein,  your  watch  goes  ever  vor." 

"  Yes,  that  is  true,  but  for  that  reason  I  watch  my 
watch." 

"  Nein,  you  never  know  the  right  time." 

"  Excuse  me,  liebe  Frau,  but  I  have  every  day  my 
Fenster  auf,  in  order  to  set  my  watch  by  the  town 
clock." 

"  Nein,  you  cannot  hear  the  only  clock  that  is  right 
from  your  window." 

Very  well,  we  let  it  go. 

The  next  day,  Gertrude  came  howling  and  weep- 
ing back  from  school,  at  quarter-past  nine,  because 
she  was  late!  and  the  door  was  shut.  The  penalties 
here  are  something  fearful.  At  dinner  that  day, 
Mrs.  Biber  said,  "Only  think,  Gertrude  was  late 
to-day ! !  My  clock  goes  back !  I  can't  think  what 
ails  it ! !  "  Not  the  slightest  reference  to  my  warn- 
ing !  I  did  n't  say,  "  Told  you  so." 

Time  to  go  to  the  theatre,  my  dear,  and  my  tirade 
comes  to  an  untimely  close.  You  will  think  my 
trials  too  trivial  to  detail;  but  these  things  make  up 


124    LETTEES  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

the  sum  of  human  life.     I  wonder  if  George  had  a 
similar  impression! 

Next  morning:  I  see,  my  best  Dinsmoor,  that  I 
got  led  away  from  my  Essay  to  discuss  that  fatal 
"  Nein."  I  had  meant  to  give  you  a  faithful  picture 
of  the  strict  surveillance  under  which  I  am  kept  by 
my  widow.  It  would  enrage  me  more,  only  that  it 
amuses  us  all  so  much  to  see  me  in  harness.  Fullum 
and  Rebecca  would  froth  at  the  mouth  to  see  that 
control,  which  even  they  have  had  only  partial  suc- 
cess in  attaining  over  me,  completely  exercised  by 
this  small  German  female!  It  can't  last,  and  even 
now  I  occasionally  break  loose.  But  that  makes  the 
rein  tighter  afterward. 

Good-bye,  lots  of  love.  I  hope  there 's  a  letter 
from  you  on  the  way. 

Always  yours, 
SUSIE  HALE. 


To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

BRUXELLES,  Tuesday  P.  M.,  June  3,  1873. 

(Finished  much  later.) 

MY  DEAR  CKECIIE,  —  How  much  I  think  of  you  in 
my  room  here.  It  looks  so  much  like  our  dear  Hotel 
du  Rhin  up  at  the  top,  although  of  course  not  like 
that.  Brussels  is  a  heavenly  town,  my  dear.  I  like 
it  better  than  any  I  have  seen!  How  odd  that  one 
takes  a  fancy  or  dislike  to  a  town,  just  like  people, 
at  the  first  glance.  I  couldn't  abide  Antwerp. 
Brussels  is  a  Corrected  and  Improved  Edition  of 
Paris,  for  the  pocket,  with  the  impurities  omitted. 
It  seems  as  much  like  Paris  as  Boston  does  like  Lon- 
don, and  that 's  a  great  deal.  My  adventures,  of 
course,  are  amazing.  Seems  as  if  I  must  begin  on 
to-day,  and  write  backwards,  but  of  course  it  would 
be  better  to  begin  at  the  Departure  from  England. 


STUDYING   AET   IN  EUKOPE        125 

That  leaves  a  gap  of  the  Derby ! ! ! !  I  know  —  but 
I  can't  help  that.  Put  that  in  a  postscript  in  an- 
other letter.  But  to-day  has  been  such  a  day !  Noth- 
ing could  be  lovelier  than  the  alacrity  of  the  Stevens 
at  getting  me  off.  I  do  love  them  both.  .  .  .  But 
this  is  a  long  chapter  and  has  no  place  in  this  travel 
journal.  B.  F.  is  just  the  dearest  and  kindest  man 
in  the  world.  I  can't  conceive  what  tempted  him  to 
do  so  much  for  me.  The  fact  was  they  liked  me.  It 
seems  odd ;  but  it  was  very  convenient. 

On  Sunday  morn,  I  rose  betimes  to  finish  that 
packing  which  had  been  sadly  neglected  in  the  hurry 
of  Saturday  (see  History  of  that  day,  as  yet  unwrit). 
You  see  I  left  my  trunk  in  London ! !  and  am 
launched  upon  the  Continent  with  only  my  portman- 
teau and  shawl-strap.  This  is  because  it  is  insup- 
portable paying  Extra  Baggage  for  all  our  party.  I 
have  set  the  example  and  all  have  agreed  to  do  like- 
wise. I  paid  ten  cents  yesterday  for  my  Extra  B. ! 
That  is  worth  while.  (There  is  something  laughable 
about  pens  connected  with  this  letter,  but  it  don't 
pay  to  write  it;  but  I  sympathise  with  your  stiff 
one.}  I  don't  get  on  at  all  in  the  narrative. 

Got  well  packed,  both  to  leave  and  take,  before 
breakfast  —  a  dear  breakfast;  Mrs.  S.  plucked  the 
first  rose  in  the  garden  to  give  me  at  parting.  Mr.  S. 
to  the  station.  Met  one  of  his  young  men  at  Lon- 
don. More  about  the  getting  to  the  wharf,  very  in- 
teresting, but  must  be  omitted  here.  At  last  the 
Baron  Ozy  was  underweigh,  —  from  the  very  Kather- 
ine's  wharf  where  I  landed,  on  a  Monday  morning, 
six  weeks  ago !  Dear  me,  what  a  good  time  I  've 
had  in  England ;  I  think  the  best  in  my  life !  For 
quiet,  easy,  do-what-you-like-a-tiveness,  you  know. 

Well,  that 's  over  now  —  I  was  rather  blue,  steam- 
ing down  the  Thames,  especially  as  it  rained,  and 
one  could  n't  stay  on  deck,  and  the  dinner  was  nasty, 


126    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

at  one  o'clock,  only  I  sate  next  a  very  dear  German 
of  about  fifty-five  summers  with  whom  I  talked  first 
in  German  and  afterwards  in  English.  ...  I  must 
tell  you  that  my  German  has  been  fifteen  years  in 
India ;  —  he  has  come  home  because  he  is  losing  his 
sight,  and  he  can't  see  to  read.  He  spoke  pathetic 
broken  English ;  and  told  me  finally  that  he  got  a 
letter  the  last  thing  on  leaving  England,  which  he 
could  not  read!  Of  course  I  offered  to  read  it  to 
him,  and  blundered  through  the  crabbed  German 
handwriting  to  his  satisfaction.  Honour,  of  course, 
forbids  my  mentioning  the  contents ;  but,  perhaps,  I 
may  add,  that  they  were  not  at  all  interesting. 

When  we  arrived  at  Antwerp,  I  didn't  know  ex- 
actly what  to  do.  That's  the  bother  of  travelling, 
however  well  you  "  know  the  ropes  "  at  one  place,  at 
the  next,  it's  entirely  different.  Lots  of  sort  of 
ouvriers  came  on  board,  and  I  poked  one  and  told 
him,  in  French,  I  wanted  a  carriage  to  go  to  the 
Hotel  de  1'Europe.  He  said  "  tres  bien"  took  my 
things,  and  walked  off,  with  me  behind.  But  he  kept 
walking  and  walking  after  we  got  on  land,  without 
stopping  at  any  cab,  and  I  saw  it  was  his  idea  to 
walk  to  the  hotel.  That  seemed  very  well,  if  it  was 
not  far ;  I  was  only  afraid  we  should  not  arrive  with 
sufficient  eclat.  But  after  a  brief  walk,  we  walked 
into  the  courtyard  of  the  hotel ;  the  landlady  received 
me  with  the  usual  cordiality,  and  took  me  to  a  room. 
She  spoke  French  well  enough.  The  spire  of  the 
Cathedral  was  just  outside  my  window.  She  said 
if  Madame  liked,  the  ceremony  of  Woggle-woggle 
was  about  to  commence  in  the  eglise,  perhaps  Madame 
would  like  to  hear  the  music,  which  was  very  fine. 
So  Madame,  just  as  I  was,  went  into  the  Cathedral  — 
where  is  a  masterpiece  of  Rubens,  and  quite  pretty 
for  him  —  and  then  heard  a  wonderful  ceremony; 
beautiful  music  by  boys  and  instruments,  and  three 


STUDYING   ART   IN   EUROPE        127 

priests  like  boiled  lobsters  with  fluted  skirts  doing 
higher  jinks  than  I  ever  saw  before.  It  appeared 
as  if  they  were  rather  tired,  but  planning  charades 
to  amuse  the  people,  which  they  did  from  time  to 
time,  when  boys  in  white  night  gowns  put  other  wraps 
over  them  —  and  it  was  more  like  magical  music, 
when  they  all  tried  kneeling,  and  seizing  candles,  and 
running  round  with  books ;  and  when  they  did  the 
right  thing,  the  music  suddenly  stopped  and  rang  a 
bell.  At  last  they  thought  they  would  play  "  button- 
button,"  and  came  down  among  the  audience  with 
hands  together  for  that  purpose,  and  then  they  went 
back  and  took  coffee,  as  it  were,  from  the  boys  in 
night  gowns,  and  helped  themselves  to  sugar.  But 
that  was  incense,  I  know,  for  I  smelt  it. 

Great  Interruption 


CHAPTEE  V 

A  summer  in  Europe  with  Rev.  Edward  E.  Hale, 
his  daughter,  Miss  Ellen  Day  Hale,  and  Miss 
Mary  Marquand,  1882  —  Visit  to  Frederick  E. 
Church,  the  painter,  at  his  home  on  the  Hudson 
River,  in  1884  —  Trip  to  Mexico  with  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Church  in  1885  —  Summer  at  Matunuck, 
1885  —  Mexico  again  in  1886,  with  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Church,  their  daughter  and  Charles  Dudley 
Warner. 

(1882-1886) 

To  Miss  LTJCEETIA  P.  HALE 

SEVILLE,  Tuesday,  May  88,  1882. 

Oh,  my  dear !  We  are  sitting  in  our  big  room  that 
looks  out  on  a  real  Damascus  courtyard.  Molly  is 
drawing  the  opposite  corner  of  it  from  our  long 
window,  —  where  she  sees  a  doorway  and  a  railing 
with  flowers,  and  some  going  up-stairs  —  and  Nelly 
has  just  finished  in  charcoal  a  lion  which  is  part  of 
the  ornament  of  the  railing.  Below  is  a  fountain 
with  goldfish,  and  a  great  banana-tree  with  bending- 
over  fruit;  the  walls  are  whitewashed  except  where 
they  felt  like  painting  them  bright  blue  in  spots. 

Such  is  the  Hotel  de  1'Europe  where  we  arrived  at 
nine  this  morning ;  but  I  must  seat  you  there  and  go 
back  to  my  last  date,  if  I  can  think  what  that  was. 
Oh,  there  is  a  great  manola  (magnolia)  in  a  tum- 
bler, which  I  bought  just  now  in  the  street,  about  as 
big  as  two  hands  put  together.  I  think  I  shut  up 
my  last,  Friday  P.M.  That  day  Mr.  Reed,  the 
charge  d'affaires,  called,  a  very  pleasant  man,  ador- 


EUROPE,   MEXICO,   MATUNUCK     129 

ing  James  Lowell.  He  urged  us  to  call  on  Mrs. 
Hamlin  in  the  ev'g  (letters  having  been  delivered, 
etc.),  and  we  went  after  dinner.  It  seemed  so  con- 
sular, my  dear,  to  go  up  two  flights  of  chalky  stairs, 
ring  bells  and  be  shown  into  a  yellow  damask  apart- 
ment with  a  round  divan  in  the  middle !  Mrs.  Ham- 
lin is  a  very  agreeable  woman  (from  Maine),  easy, 
pretty,  and  cordial ;  I  guess  glad  to  see  "  Americans  " 
as  amenable  as  we  were.  Aiid  Papa  Hamlin,  a  dear 
worthy  old  gent,  much  farther  on  in  years  than 
she.  .  .  .  She  offered  to  take  us  to  drive  —  which 
did  not  occur  till  Sunday,  as  it  rained  Sat.  I  may 
here  say  that  though  we  have  lovely  weather  enough 
to  do  everything,  it  is  continually  raining  in  burst- 
ing showers.  People  say,  as  at  Cairo,  that  it  never 
rains  in  Spain.  It  is  good,  for  everything  is  fresh. 

Well,  on  Saturday,  we  felt  equal  to  the  Gallery. 
You  must  know  we  stayed  longer  in  Madrid  than 
we  had  meant,  for  several  reasons,  first,  that  our 
rooms  were  very  pleasant,  and  second,  that  we  were 
enchanted  with  M.  It  is  so  gay,  so  crowded,  and 
amusing,  utterly  unlike  Paris  or  any  other  capital 
we  know.  The  pictures  are  perfectly  satisfactory. 
Think  of  me  liking  them ;  what  a  reform ! !  But  we 
were  very  judicious.  The  Museo  Reale  is  an  im- 
mense place  like  the  Louvre,  reeking  with  long  pas- 
sages and  rotundas ;  we  flew  at  once  to  the  Velasquez 
and  Murillos,  and  hard  by  to  the  Salon  Isabel  II 
which  (like  the  Salon  Carre)  contains  gems.  I  will 
write  more  about  the  pictures  later,  for  we  are  going 
back  to  Madrid,  —  suffice  it  to  say  that  the  Velasquez 
are  all  they  ought  to  be.  The  great  horses  on  which 
Isabella  and  Philip  sit  are  lifelike  and  the  portraits 
of  Philip  IV  wonderful.  Don't  care  so  much  for  the 
Murillos.  They  are  more  like  the  ones  we  have  seen, 
but  we  haven't  seen  any  Velasquez  till  now,  worth 
speaking  of. 


130    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

Molly  was  rejoiced  to  see  that  P.  M.  the  King  going 
to  church.  He  required  three  glass  coaches  drawn 
by  six  horses  each,  and  a  cortege  of  twenty  sort  of 
Arabs  on  horseback  wrapped  in  white  with  spears. 
For  even  Madrid  seemed  Moorish  —  but,  oh,  lor! 
nothing  to  this  that  follows,  I  mean  Andalusia,  etc. 

On  Sunday  there  was  a  bull-fight,  as  usual.  Now 
we  do  not  attend  bull-fights;  but  Mrs.  Hamlin,  after 
a  pretty  drive  on  the  Buen  Retire  Pasco,  took  us 
to  the  B.  F.  place  to  see  the  crowds  as  they  came  out. 
It  looked  for  all  the  world  like  a  cattle  show.  The 
great  amphitheatre  is  a  cheap  modern  building,  not 
exactly  Yankee  looking  with  windows ;  but  the  crowds 
and  omnibuses  waiting  were  like  those  at  a  fair, — 
and  when  they  all  came  streaming  out  it  was  very 
amusing.  The  picadors  (not  being  dead)  rode  forth 
on  their  horses,  looking  just  as  they  do  in  pictures. 
The  King  was  n't  there,  so  he  did  n't  come  out.  This 
lasted  so  long  that  it  was  after  seven  when  we  got 
back  to  our  hotel,  through  streets  packed  with  people 
waiting  to  see  us  (and  the  King)  return  from  the 
bull-fight.  Our  dinner  was  waiting,  our  train  was  to 
go  in  half  an  hour !  I  mean  our  cabs  to  the  train. 

But  we  were  all  packed,  and  Papa  Edward  on 
hand  champing  the  bit  and  stimulating  the  prepara- 
tion of  the  addition  and  with  rather  a  scrimmagio, 
we  got  to  the  gare,  the  baggage  was  weighed,  but  let 
me  tell  you,  by  dint  of  moving  myself  into  Molly's 
trunk,  and  leaving  most  of  our  mutual  effects  at 
Madrid,  the  scales  now  announce  no  extra  baggage ! 
a  great  relief  to  our  purse.  .  .  . 

Another  night  in  the  train  —  but  this  time  we  had 
a  berlina,  which  was  that  coupe  you  and  I  came  to 
Marseilles  in,  back  to  the  horses.  We  slept  pretty 
well,  and  had  great  fun  tumbling  out  in  the  middle 
of  the  night  at  a  fonda  (buffet)  where  we  had  thick 
chocolate  and  flat  sponge-cakes,  the  latter  being  all 


EUROPE,   MEXICO,   MATUNUCK     131 

there  was  for  spoons,  with  which  we  dipped  up  the 
thick  stuff  and  ate.  A  ruffian  stuck  all  over  like  a 
pin-cushion  with  knives  of  a  lovely  sort.  We  all 
bought  them.  You  will  be  delighted  with  mine,  it 
is  so  Moorish.  We  must  appear  like  maniacs  to  more 
sedate  travellers ;  there  is  no  adventure  that  we  stick 
at,  nor  form  of  language ;  and  we  are  all  so  jolly.  .  .  . 

But  why  do  I  dally  before  the  delights  of  Cordova 
where  we  passed  yesterday,  —  the  weirdest  kind  of  a 
day.  Arrived  about  10  A.  M..  Were  driven  through 
a  wholly  new  kind  of  town,  with  crooked  white- 
washed streets,  —  now  beginning  to  look  a  little  like 
some  of  Alexandria  —  but  tiled,  not  flat  roofs.  The 
bus  stuck  between  the  two  sides  of  the  street  once, 
and  wormed  itself  through  with  difficulty.  After 
Almuerzo  (whereby  hangs  a  tale)  we  went  with  a 
Moor,  the  only  Arabe  now  left  in  Cordova!  who 
speaks  French,  to  see  the  wonderful  mosque,  with  its 
one  thousand  marble  pillars,  arched  with  striped  red 
and  white;  the  nasty  old  Christians  have  spoiled  it 
by  thrusting  in  a  whole  chapel  in  the  middle,  at 
which  Charles  V  was  wroth,  but  didn't  make  them 
take  it  out  again.  Here  we  began  our  acquaintance 
face  to  face  with  the  dear  Moors  and  all  their  works : 
and  of  course  it  reminds  of  Cairo,  etc.,  but  this 
mosque  is  miles  beyond  those  we  saw  in  the  East, 
in  sculpture,  it  is  bereft  of  almost  all  mosaic  and 
tracery,  except  in  one  or  two  lovely  spots. 

We  walked  back  through  the  middle  of  the  crooked 
whitewashed  streets,  meeting  an  occasional  donkey, 
but  few  other  inhabitants;  stopping  a  long  time  at 
a  garden  like  all  those  in  the  Arabian  Nights,  with 
fountains,  carp  ponds,  steps  and  arbours,  and  all 
blooming  with  scarlet  pomegra/nates ! !  roses,  jasmine, 
the  young  figs  on  the  trees  not  ripe;  but  a  strange 
fruit  like  a  persimmon,  which  they  let  us  eat.  This 
garden  is  on  the  place  of  the  ruined  palace  of  the 


132    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

Moorish  kings,  with  a  few  traces  left  —  and  from  a 
vine-hung  (in  blossom)  sort  of  turret,  we  looked 
down  on  the  Guadalquivir,  a  bridge  built  by  Romans, 
and  some  Arab  mills. 

'Now  you  must  know  that  at  breakfast  a  stout  man 
sate  opposite  me  with  his  wife,  with  whom  we  had 
no  traffic,  until  I  took  a  piece  of  cheese  and  began  to 
eat  it,  before  engaging  upon  an  orange.  The  man 
now  accosted  me  and  said  in  French  that  it  was  dan- 
gerous to  do  that,  as  they  did  not  join  well  in  the 
stomach.  This  began  a  friendly  conversation,  which 
was  continued  by  an  invitation  to  his  jardin  to  see 
his  strawberry  beds  —  and  it  ended  in  our  passing 
a  long  P.  M.  in  his  lovely  garden.  He  is  a  most  dear 
man,  jefe  of  mecaniciens  to  the  R.  R.  —  Alsacien,  but 
his  wife  from  Malaga  speaks  only  Spanish.  If  you 
could  have  seen  us  all,  hobnobbing  in  these  languages, 
—  and  receiving  handsful  of  the  most  delicious  fat 
roses,  jasmines,  orange-blossoms,  gillyflowers,  lark- 
spurs, pansies,  all  the  time  the  beaming  man  telling 
us  how  he  loved  to  have  us  see  his  garden,  and  his 
strawberry  bed,  which  bears  all  the  year  round.  It 
was  not  such  a  very  big  garden,  you  know,  but  very 
pretty,  with  a  fountain  in  the  middle.  Our  inter- 
preter was  there,  the  Arabe,  who  stayed  round  to 
come  in  for  his  share  of  the  fun.  The  Signora,  his 
wife,  a  stout  lady  with  a  velo  on  her  head,  beamed 
and  essayed  hospitalities  in  Spanish  which  we  strove 
with  might  and  main  to  comprehend.  A  muchacha 
was  set  to  gather  strawberries ;  and  by  and  by  when 
we  struggled  to  get  away  we  were  led  into  the  worthy 
house,  where  was  a  piano,  which  they  forced  me  to 
play  on,  while  a  hasty  repast  of  fruit  was  prepared. 
We  then  sate  round  and  partook.  The  strawberries 
are  small  and  delicious  here,  —  wide  and  in  profu- 
sion. His  especially  so.  He  took  great  oranges  from 
his  own  tree,  cut  them  in  two,  and  squeezed  them  like 


EUKOPE,  MEXICO,  MATUNUCK  133' 

a  sponge,  over  the  strawberries  with,  lots  of  sugar. 
This  is  the  true  way  to  eat  both.  Hfe  then  brought 
out  wine  of  his  own  making  from  his  own  grapes. 
The  others  thought  it  horrid  stuff,  and  it  was  n't  first 
class.  We  all  touched  glasses,  and  sipped ;  and  finally 
got  away  with  mutual  expressions  of  regard.  You 
can't  imagine  what  a  dear,  stout,  radiant  man  he  was ; 
and  he  seemed  to  act  as  if  we  were  the  only  people 
he  had  ever  loved.  Wasn't  this  an  amazing  ad- 
venture. 

And  now,  most  dead;  for  you  see  we  had  had  no 
beds  the  night  before ;  we  came  back  to  the  hotel,  and 
went  betimes  to  bed  —  to  rise  at  four  this  A.  M.  to 
get  off  at  six — reached  here  at  nine,  through  a  de- 
licious road  lined  with  agaves,  apparently  made  of 
tin  and  painted,  but  really  real  things  with  tall  can- 
dlesticks for  blossoms  looking  like  asparagus  the  size 
of  telegraph-poles;  oleander  in  blossom,  fluffy  yellow 
acacia,  etc.,  etc.  —  and  are  just  settling  here  for  a 
week  or  so.  I  send  this  off  in  haste. 

YOUR  SUSIE. 


To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

GRANADA,  Sunday,  June  4>,  1882. 

DEAR  LUC.,  —  I'm  really  feeling  so  very  English 
that  I  'ope  you'll  be  able  to  see  the  truly  English 
eccent  through  me  writing  even ;  for  you  know  there 
are  several  English  in  the  'ouse  'ere,  and  among 
others  a  lady  all  hung  about  with  silver  beads,  which 
everybody  is  wearing  at  present,  and  rings  on  all  her 
fingars,  —  indeed,  I  dessay,  bells  upon  her  toes,  you 
know.  I  was  eating  strawberries  and  sugar,  with 
orange  squeezed  on  them,  and  as  I  was  in  the  very 
ect  of  squeezing  the  orange,  she  said,  looking  me  full 
in  the  face  — 

"  That  must  be  very  nasty!  " 


134    LETTEES  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

"  On  the  contrary/'  said  I,  "  I  assure  you  that  if 
it  were  nasty,  I  should  not  do  it ;  it  is  very  nice." 

But  she  is  really  no  great  part  of  Granada  — 
which  is  truly  ravishing.  .  .  . 

But,  oh,  my  dear!  we  have  reached  the  heavenly 
culmination  of  our  trip,  —  for  Granada  is  the  dream 
of  Aladdin's  Lamp,  —  and  a  lovely  place  to  be  in 
for  June.  Let  me  say,  also,  if  I  haven't,  that  we 
have  had  no  bugs,  nor  fleas,  nor  flies,  nor  dust,  nor 
bad  food,  any  of  the  time.  A  smell  or  two,  for  those 
who  seek  them ;  —  but  Spain  must  be  greatly  im- 
proved since  the  complaints  were  made.  As  for  heat, 
it  is  cold  enough  here  for  woollen  clothes,  and 
blankets  at  night;  for  it  is  over  two  thousand  feet 
high  —  about  like  Crawfords,  White  Mountains,  and 
a  cool,  fresh,  brilliant  air,  that  makes  us  sleep  like 
dogs.  Snow  on  the  Sierra  Nevada,  opposite  us. 
Thermometer  72°,  Edward  says,  as  I  write. 

Well:  at  Malaga  we  called  on  Marquis  de  Casa 
Loring,  Banker,  who  is  uncle  to  Seraphina  Loring 
(ask  Bursleys).  He  has  an  enchanting  Alonzo  Cano 
"  Virgin  and  Child,"  and  many  other  fine  pictures, 
and  bits  of  rare  china.  He  seemed  to  like  us,  and  our 
praise  of  his  pictures,  and  promised  me  a  photograph 
of  the  Alonzo  Cano;  but  alas!  it  didn't  come,  and 
we  think,  perhaps,  it  was  a  Spanish  compliment. 
The  Cathedral  at  Malaga  is  deteriorated  in  style,  but 
contains  a  beautiful  Cano ;  —  Nelly  and  I  are  setting 
up  a  great  ardour  for  his  work  —  and  a  fine  Herrera, 
of  St.  Anthony  dying. 

The  road  to  Granada  is  wonderful ;  the  railway 
lately  built,  so  that  the  Welds  and  other  constituents 
have  n't  seen  it.  It  crosses  great  ranges  of  mountains 
in  tunnels  innumerable;  these  tunnels  have  gaps 
which  flash  upon  you  suddenly,  a  cliff  and  a  gorge, 
of  great  size  and  bright  orange  colour  with  purple 
shadows  —  very  exciting.  We  arrived  at  eight,  down 


EUEOPE,   MEXICO,   MATUNUCK     135 

in  the  town ;  our  nice  Juan,  who  is  still  with  us,  put 
us  in  a  kind  of  omnibus  like  a  sleigh  on  wheels,  and 
merrily  jingling  mules  rattled  us  up  a  very  steep  hill, 
through  a  narrow  street,  to  the  top,  which  is  a  won- 
derful place  like  Catskill  even  for  height — and 
here  the  huge  grounds  of  the  Alhambra,  which  it 
seems  is  not  only  a  palace  but  a  fortress,  —  whose 
walls  enclose  quite  a  little  city;  and  outside  these 
walls  are  the  two  hotels,  like  great  White  Mountain 
hotels,  extensive  and  pretentious,  with  their  own  gar- 
dens and  fountains,  and  stained  glass  windows,  and 
white-choked  waiters.  Our  landlord  is  most  friendly, 
and  after  the  first  night,  which  we  passed  in  a  kind 
of  turret,  in  red-walled  rooms,  with  barred  windows 
overlooking  a  hanging  garden,  he  transferred  us  to 
a  higher  up  but  larger  suite,  where  we  have  home- 
like, delightful  rooms ;  one,  a  big  salon  of  a  catty- 
cornered  description,  with  windows  looking  all  sorts 
of  ways  upon  orange-coloured  ruins.  Oh  my !  it  is 
delicious.  And  the  nightingale  really  bulbuls  all 
night  long !  It  appears  he  is  the  male  bird,  who  sits 
and  sings  all  the  time  while  Mrs.  is  on  the  nest  hatch- 
ing the  eggs.  We  think  it  is  very  friendly  of  him, 
and  something  like  reading  her  the  Transcript  o' 
nights,  and  quite  different  from  the  Bulbul  accosting 
the  Rose,  or  Philomela  lamenting  her  lost  state. 

Here  we  are  content  to  let  the  time  slip  by  as  it 
will.  There  is  everything  to  sketch,  only  it  takes  so 
much  lake  and  indian  yellow.  The  grounds  are  open 
to  all  —  broad  roads  leading  up  and  around  the  walls 
and  castles,  with  tall  trees,  thickly  shading  them,  and 
streams  of  rushing  water  everywhere  (like  Damas- 
cus), being  the  Darro  and  Genii,  which  the  Moors 
made  to  irrigate  things. 

We  have  been  through  the  lovely  Alhambra  palace, 
and  were  there  by  moonlight.  The  lions  are  very 
worthy  in  the  Court.  The  Moors  didn't  know  how 


136    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

to  make  them  very  well,  so  they  are  quite  chunky. 
But  the  tracery  and  arches,  and  the  views  from  win- 
dows are  exquisite.  The  style  like  the  Alcazar,  only 
more  so;  and  we  are  glad  we  saw  that  first.  From 
these  windows  we  look  down  a  steep  precipice,  and 
across  at  the  Sierra  Nevada  (eleven  thousand  feet) 
with  snow  on  it;  water  rushes,  tall  cypresses  stick 
up,  and  the  white  town  of  Granada  is  below.  There 
are  lots  of  different  towers  and  gardens,  which  we 
have  not  yet  begun  to  see;  but  we  mean  to  be  here 
some  time. 

At  the  table  d'hote  are  some  quite  amusing,  agree- 
able people.  The  season  is  over  (as  usual  when  I 
reach  any  place)  so  there  are  but  few  other  inmates. 
Yesterday  we  drove  to  the  Cathedral  in  the  town; 
it  is  Spanish  and  fine;  and  bought  at  a  shop  a  few 
Spanish  characteristic  things.  There  are  three  cats 
in  the  Cathedral.  Much  love  from  all. 

YE.  SUSIE. 


To  Miss  LTTCRETIA  P.  HALE 

THE  SHEAVES,  SURBITOJST,  Monday  morning, 

September  25,  1882. 

DEAR  LTTO.,  —  Such  peace!  Everything  here  just 
as  I  left  it,  June  1,  1873.  Dog  a  few  years  older, 
all  of  us  a  little  stouter,  more  ivy  against  the  house, 
if  possible;  the  house,  too,  has  grown,  for  they  have 
added  an  L.  My  old  jokes  still  remembered  and 
quoted,  and  the  welcome  as  cordial  as  possible.  The 
only  danger  is,  a  creeping  sense  of  settling  down  now 
to  take  all  the  tired  of  the  whole  summer,  instead  of 
waiting  till  I  crawl  into  my  own  hole  wherever  it  may 
prove  to  be.  That  won't  do ;  must  brace  up  and  run 
the  machine  well  into  the  station  first.  Don't  fancy 
that  I  'm  used  up  in  the  least,  by  this  line  of  remark, 
only  you  know  the  sense  of  repose  that  comes  on  after 


EUKOPE,   MEXICO,   MATUKUCK     137 

travelling.  As  soon  as  B.  F.  Stevens  turned  to  the 
porter  and  said,  "  Take  these  boxes  to  the  Sheaves  " 
(instead  of  my  doing  it),  I  gave  in  my  Nunc  Dimit- 
tis.  We  were  tired,  too,  for  we  had  a  wild  week  in 
London,  perfectly  delicious.  I  can't  think  of  any- 
thing better  conducted.  You.  know  Molly  and  I  had 
the  whole  top-story  at  Mrs.  Alflatt's.  Every  morn- 
ing Eliza  brought  my  bath,  and  'ot  water  for  Molly ; 
'alf  an  'our  afterwards  we  came  down  and  found  a 
nice  little  breakfast  and  the  newspaper.  As  soon  as 
we  could  afterwards,  we  sallied  forth,  looked  in  on 
Kelly,  and  then  took  bus  for  our  affairs.  .  .  . 

For  Monday,  after  breakfast,  Molly  and  I  took  our 
first  bus  and  rode  to  Piccadilly  Circus.  ...  As  soon 
as  we  reached  Trafalgar  Square  we  were  received 
into  Stevens's  arms;  he  was  real  nice,  and  so  glad 
to  see  me  that  nothing  much  ensued  but  a  long  im- 
mense talk  in  which  he  thoroughly  shrived  himself. 
So  at  one  he  just  put  us  on  top  of  a  bus  (which  Mrs. 
Merritt  thinks  very  shocking,  perhaps  you  'd  better 
not  mention  it)  and  we  came  back  to  Kelly's  lunch. 
Her  studio  is  awfully  nice.  It  is  such  a  pity  she 
can't  take  it  to  America.  When  we  got  home  we 
found  the  vouchers  for  our  stalls  at  the  Lyceum  thea- 
tre, which  I  had  written  for.  Molly  now  rested  while 
I  put  on  war  paint,  and  Kelly  and  I  took  hansom  to 
Mrs.  Alma-Tadema's  P.  M.  tea,  which  Mrs.  Howells 
had  given  us  cards  for.  For  now  I  see  I  forgot  to 
say  that  Sunday  P.  M.  Kelly  and  I  went  to  Pelham 
Crescent  to  call  on  the  Howells,  and  that  Sunday 
evening  Mr.  H.  called  on  me.  They  are  just  done 
with  London,  and  were  leaving  the  next  morning, 
very  jolly,  delighted  with  London,  themselves,  and 
the  world  in  general.  The  C.  D.  Warners  dropped 
in  at  Mrs.  Howell's,  very  friendly,  in  gorgeous 
clothes,  being  just  on  their  way  home. 

So  we  went  to  the  Alma-Tademas',  a  sweet  aesthetic 


138    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

house  on  Regents'  Park,  and  there  was  Mrs.  A.-T., 
my  first  real  aesthete.  Oh,  my!  Her  gown  was 
strainer  cloth  worked  with  Holbein  stitch.  It  was 
cut  half  low,  with  hunchy  sleeves;  a  bow  of  faded 
maroony  lilac,  such  as  used  to  be  in  the  ribbon-bag 
in  the  Hamilton  Place  entry-closet,  at  the  front,  and 
a  double  row  of  beads  of  somewhat  the  same  colour; 
her  tawny  hair  was  scruffed  in  front  and  knotted 
low  behind.  She  is  very  handsome,  and  all  this  was 
very  becoming,  and  her  manners  were  simple  and 
charming,  and,  in  fact,  made  you  feel,  in  that  house, 
that  she  was  all  right,  and  we  were  all  wrong,  espe- 
cially Mrs.  C.  D.  Warner  (who  again  came  in  with 
Mr.  C.  D.),  who  was  all  got  up  in  peacock  blue  and 
bangles  from  Paris.  The  two  gawky  daughters  of 
Alma-T.  did  n't  become  their  aesthetic  clothes  so  well, 
but  they  were  well  bred  and  pleasant.  The  only  other 
person  there,  was  Millet,  our  little  Frank  Millet  of 
Boston  and  New  York.  The  A.-T.'s  affect  and  en- 
courage Americans.  Square  cups  of  tea  were  in- 
stantly served,  which  we  drank  out  of  the  corners; 
and  then  Mrs.  A.-T.  let  us  go  up  to  the  Studio, 
although  it  was  not  a  show  day,  as  Mr.  A.-T.  is  away. 

And  in  the  evening,  we  saw  Irving  and  Ellen 
Terry  in  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  perfectly  enchanting, 
the  scenery  absolutely  faultless,  but  I  must  leave  that 
till  I  get  home.  .  .  . 

All  my  sketches  (fifty)  are  at  Winsor  and  New- 
ton's being  mounted.  I  guess  they  are  horrid. 

Always  yrs., 

S. 

To  MRS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

[BOSTON],  Friday,  December  15, 1882. 
CAROLINE,   DEAR,  —  I  got  the  picture!     I   don't 
know  if  we  can  do  anything  with  it,  but  it  seemed 
a  waste  to  let  go  all  that  good  paint,  paper,  and  frame 


EUROPE,   MEXICO,   MATUNUCK     139 

for  twenty  dollars.  It  is  much  loaded  with  gouache, 
which  will  make  it  hard  to  meddle  with. 

Now  let  me  describe  my  truly  American  Adven- 
tures in  the  Expedition.  Of  course  my  couturiere 
called  before  I  finished  breakfast,  to  be  instructed 
in  ripping  and  remaking  my  old  brown  skirt;  but  I 
got  rid  of  her,  and  dressed,  on  the  doorstep  at  nine- 
twenty.  I  say  "  dressed,"  but  of  course  my  gloves 
were  in  my  hand,  my  purse  in  my  muff,  my  door-key 
in  my  mouth,  and  my  handkerchief  at  my  nose;  so 
that  when  the  postman  came  and  thrust  a  letter  at 
me,  there  seemed  no  good  place  to  put  that,  but  I 
squeezed  it  between  my  muff  and  my  stomach. 

A  car  came  along,  and  I  climbed  up  on  it  with 
difficulty,  to  find  it  was  jam  full  and  people  sticking 
out  of  the  doors  and  windows,  —  so  I  had  to  stand 
outside  amid  the  jeers  of  the  populace,  and  the  severe 
invitation  of  the  conductor  to. "step  inside."  This 
I  would  gladly  have  done  but  that  there  was  no  inside 
to  step  to,  it  being  au  grand  complet.  When  we 
swung  round  the  corner  I  nearly  fell  off,  for  you  will 
remember  I  had  no  hand  to  spare  to  hold  on  by ;  and 
thus  became  an  object  of  loathing  to  the  other  men 
on  the  platform  who  didn't  want  me.  Before  we 
reached  West  Street  the  car  stopped.  "What 's  this  ?" 
asked  a  man.  "  Wai,"  said  the  conductor,  "  I  guess 
the  horses  are  tired."  As  they  seemed  likely  to  re- 
main tired,  I  alighted.  It  was  a  pretty  even  thing 
all  the  way  to  Winter  Street;  and  the  race  was  in- 
teresting to  those  inside  the  car.  At  Winter  Street 
they  got  the  advantage,  for  I  had  no  third  horse  to 
get  me  up  the  slope.  However,  I  won,  and  rounded 
the  Bromfield  Street  corner  'ere  they  passed  Park 
Street  Church.  Let  me  mention  that  the  only  thing  I 
had  time  for  on  the  car  was  to  give  up  my  ticket,  by 
which  the  Met.  R.  R.  Co.  is  now  the  gainer.  It  was 
now  simple  to  find  the  picture,  and  give  my  order. 


140    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

I  returned  to  Tremont  Street.  Never  a  car.  I 
suppose  the  horses  were  all  tired  down  below.  I  had 
got  myself  together  a  little  by  this  time,  and  had  a 
hand  to  spare,  which  was  lucky,  for  my  bonnet,  tuned 
only  to  Parisian  zephyrs,  now  clean  left  my  head, 
and  I  found  myself  in  the  teeth  of  a  howling  blast! 
Mr.  Sam  Johnson  found  and  pitied  me,  and  we  strove 
to  touch  the  heart  of  a  cabman,  but  he  was  "en- 
gaged," so  again  I  faced  the  situation.  Only  at 
Temple  Place  did  I  gain  a  car,  and  temporary  repose. 
There  was  a  seat.  Thus  blown  and  blowzy  I  reached 
my  home,  just  ten  o'clock,  just  in  time  to  let  in  a 
pupil  on  the  step  of  the  door.  All  but  Honour  lost ! 
But  my  pledge  fulfilled.  The  picture  has  come,  and 
I  paid  35  cents  to  the  expressman.  Come  and  consult. 

Yours, 

S. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

OLANA,  June  89,  1884. 

DEAE  LUC., —  ...  It  is  lovely  here,  real  woodsy 
and  wild,  though  the  house  or  villa  is  gorgeous !  Mrs. 
Church  met  me  at  Hudson,  and  we  drove  up  here, 
several  miles  —  through  thick  woods,  like  the  ascent 
to  the  Alhambra.  In  fact  Olana  is  placed  somewhat 
like  that,  on  the  top  of  a  cone-like  height  command- 
ing the  Hudson.  The  house  is  large  and  all  open 
on  the  lower  floor,  with  wide  doors  and  windows 
a  deux  battants,  so  that  everywhere  you  look  through 
vistas  to  shining  oak  boughs  at  hand,  and  dim,  blue 
hills  far  beyond,  middle  distance  omitted  because  so 
far  below.  The  air  is  all  perfumed  with  wild  grape 
and  hay-like  scents.  It  reminds  me  of  Thisselwood 
in  this  boskiness.  There  are  no  noises  whatever,  but 
old  squirrels  yapping,  and  hermit-thrushes  and  robins, 
in  unalarmed  profusion.  At  present  the  household 
is  old  Mrs.  Carnes ;  Mr.  Church,  very  stiff  and  lame, 


EUROPE,   MEXICO,   MATUNUCK     141 

but  lovely;  Mrs.  Church,  very  pretty  in  soft  white 
curcan;  the  boys,  Winthrop  and  Louis,  and  their 
tutor,  "  Mr.  Scudder,"  and  Downie ;  these  last  have 
gone  to  church ;  the  rest  of  us  are  writing  in  different 
rooms  on  different  Persian  carpets,  with  different 
pounded  brass  inkstands,  and  different  oriental  stuffs 
hung  about  on  easy  chairs  of  antique  or  artistic 
shapes.  There  are  a  great  many  animals  attached 
to  the  house,  donkeys  and  dogs  and  cats  and  turtles 
and  a  new  owl  just  out  of  the  egg,  with  great  eyes 
that  turn  with  his  head.  We  have  talked  a  great  deal 
about  Mr.  Appleton,  Mexico,  etc.  It  is  that  real 
warm  inland  out-of-door  weather,  soft,  not  too  hot, 
regular  country,  not  at  all  seashorey,  suggestion  of 
muslins.  I  wish  I  had  more.  I  think  I  shall  be 
happy  for  a  month.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
STJSE. 

To  Miss  LUCEETIA  P.  HALE 

OLANA,  Sunday,  July  6,  1884. 

DEAR  LUC., —  ...  It  is  a  lovely,  quiet  life,  and 
suits  my  own  minor  state  of  spirits  better  than  an- 
other place  and  better  than  this  would  at  another 
time.  They  are  certainly  the  loveliest  people  that 
ever  were. 

Breakfast  is  very  punctual  at  eight.  The  neat 
maid  twangles  a  triangle  to  summon  us,  and  we  meet 
in  the  superb  dining-room  which  is  a  picture  gallery, 
with  a  Salvator  Rosa,  the  Murillo  "  Santa  Rosa," 
and  many  other  pictures.  The  walls  are  all  window- 
less  except  on  one  side  where  the  light  comes  from 
above  the  great  fireplace.  Up  there  you  see  the 
branches  waving  —  but  below  it  is  cloister-like.  Ex- 
quisite flowers  arranged  only  by  Mrs.  Church  are 
always  on  the  table,  and  every  plate  and  pitcher  and 
napkin  is  chosen  for  its  beauty  or  prettiness.  De- 


142    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

licious  cream,  and  perfect  coffee,  burnt  in  the  only 
machine  of  its  kind  in  the  world;  vegetables,  fruit, 
cherries,  raspberries,  currants,  all  from  our  own 
gardens,  and  so  on. 

Prayers  are  always  after  breakfast.  Downie  gets 
the  Bibles  and  we  all  read  round.  Then  I  retire 
to  write  in  my  room.  I  have  just  finished  "  F.  F." 
and  sent  the  whole  thing  off  to  Lothrop.  Break 
ground  to-morrow  on  the  Memoir,  and  take  this 
Sunday  interval  to  write  you.  When  I  get  through 
writing,  I  dart  off  alone  for  a  sweat-bath  and  to  re- 
cover my  tone.  The  place  is  so  large  I  can  walk 
miles  without  going  off  of  it.  It  is  very  pretty,  great 
avenues  of  trees,  a  pond,  nooks  of  shade,  and  always 
the  wide  view  of  the  river  and  mountains.  It  is  a 
little  monotonous,  in  that  just  so  much  as  you  go 
down  you  have  to  climb  up  again,  being  on  the  very- 
top  of  everything;  in  this  reminding  me  of  Monad- 
nock  Halfway  House. 

We  meet  at  lunch  (which  nobody  can  eat  but  me 
and  the  boys.  It  makes  me  appear  a  ravenous  wild 
beast)  ;  but  retire  for  naps  or  novels.  But  between 
three  and  four  we  come  out  richly  dressed  and  as- 
semble on  whatever  piazza,  porch,  or  ombra  com- 
mands the  best  advantages  for  seeing  and  coolness,  — 
and  then  talk,  talk,  talk  till  dinner  at  five-thirty, 
and  then  the  same  all  evening  till  about  ten  o'clock, 
bedtime.  We  are  all,  in  fact,  very  agreeable,  and 
nobody  takes  up  a  book  much,  though  every  form  of 
literature  is  lying  round.  Coffee  is  served  after  din- 
ner in  little  cups  with  exquisite  little  spoons,  each 
one  different,  in  the  shape  of  some  flower  or  leaf; 
all  these  things  are  Mr.  Church's  taste.  .  .  .  Close 
in  haste. 

SUSE. 


EUKOPE,   MEXICO,   MATUNUCK     143' 

To  Miss  LucifcETiA  P.  HALE 

OLANA,  July  27,  1884. 

DEAK  LTJC., —  I  write  now  my  last  from  here. 
After  all,  how  alarmingly  fast  the  month  has  gone. 
I  have  got  half  my  book  done  (in  pages)  and  have 
read  it  aloud  to  the  Churches  who  are  delighted. 
This  part  consists  chiefly  in  condensing  and  copying 
from  early  journals,  and  I  have  done  all  that.  It  is 
well  to  be  through  as  I  need  not  cart  these  heavy 
books  to  E.  G.  —  but  the  rest  will  be  much  harder. 
It  is  as  if  a  heavy  curtain  went  down  in  front  of  an 
actual  scene  of  what  Mr.  T.  G.  was  doing,  and  now 
I  must  grope  about  to  find  out  the  facts  of  the  greater 
part  of  his  life.  .  .  . 

We  have  had  a  quiet  week  here  —  only  a  Mr. 
Austen,  friend  of  Mr.  Church,  great  traveller  in 
South  America,  for  a  few  days.  The  children  all 
left  us  on  Thursday.  .  .  . 

Our  family  thus  reduced  to  a  quartet  of  elders. 
The  chief  interest  is  the  sweet  little  owl.  The  boys 
let  him  loose,  he  having  reached  full  size,  but  the 
angel  comes  back  about  dusk  every  night  to  get  fed. 
His  little  twitter  is  heard,  and  he  floats  softly  into 
the  room,  alighting  on  some  chair.  He  is  perfectly 
tame,  so  I  catch  him,  or  somebody,  and  we  give  him 
water  in  a  spoon,  and  bits  of  raw  meat.  He  revisits 
his  cage,  takes  a  seat  for  a  minute  in  his  little  round 
basket  bed,  and  then,  having  thus  shewed  his  friend- 
liness to  the  family,  soars  off  into  the  night  on  silent 
wings.  Is  it  not  sweet  of  him  ?  The  great  black  cat 
Cyrus  who  rodes  about  at  night  causes  us  fear,  for 
it  would  be  sad  if  one  of  our  pets  should  lie  down 
inside  of  the  other.  .  .  .  Much  love  from 

SUSIE. 


144         LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

To  Miss  ELLEN  DAY  HALE 

BOSTON,  February  W,  1885. 

DEAR  NELLY,  —  As  I  write  the  date,  I  feel  all  the 
things  I  wish  to  write  you  about  trooping  out  of  my 
head  to  unknown  parts.  Don't  you  ever?  I  hope 
they  will  come  back,  for  there  are  stacks  of  them, 
and  I  do  not  want  to  fill  up  my  letter  with  twaddle, 
of  which  there  is  always  plenty  afloat,  of  course.  .  .  . 

I  want  to  tell  you  about  my  story,  you  know,  that 
I  read  to  you  and  Phil.  I  sent  it  to  Harper's  who 
sent  it  back  saying  there  was  rather  too  little  subject 
for  so  long  a  story,  and  that  they  were  overburdened 
with  tales  of  that  length.  Now  this  rather  comforted 
me,  for  I  hate  to  write  such  long  ones,  and  had  much 
rather  do  two  short  than  one  long.  So  I  think  to 
pluck  up  strength  to  send  a  brief  one  chock  full  of 
meat,  would  n't  you  ?  Then  as  Alice  Jepson  was  just 
returning  to  England,  I  poked  off  on  her  the  Mss. 
of  this  story,  asking  Stevens  to  send  it  to  some  or  any 
London  mag. !  The  English  may  have  different  tastes, 
at  any  rate  it 's  out  of  my  sight,  so  that 's  that. 

Meanwhile,  Tilton  has  kept  me  the  whole  winter 
puttering  over  the  decorating  book,  which  is  now 
really  going  to  press  at  once ;  he  will  pay  me  twenty- 
five  dollars  more,  which  makes  a  hundred.  And  Mr. 
Amory  is  sweet  about  Mexico.  ...  So  that  I  can 
really  get  off  for  Mexico  and  apparently  shall,  in  the 
Alexander  steamer  of  March  26,  via  Havana  for 
Vera  Cruz,  where  Churches  will  lay  hold  of  me.  I 
think  to  be  gone  till  about  May  20,  and  then  come 
back  here  and  write  here  in  97  B,  —  and  not  move 
till  about  July  1  to  Matunuck,  getting  there  in  time 
to  receive  my  boarding  family  and  you  when  you 
return,  n'est-ce  pas?  I  believe  your  mother  holds 
firm  to  the  scheme;  but  I  am  awfully  afraid  of  some 
treachery  in  the  serfs ;  —  for  what  a  sell  it  would  be 


EUKOPE,   MEXICO,   MATUNUCK     145 

to  get  saddled  down  there  with  Katy  and  Ellen  and 
Mary !  Your  father  is  bold  as  a  lion  about  it.  ... 
Che  die  ne  sia.,  as  Giannone  says  all  the  time,  I  will 
hold  to  my  bargain,  and  long  to  be  far  from  the  in- 
trigues of  the  Court,  although  't  is  sad  to  think  that 
Jack  and  I  shall  not  have  another  winter  in  these 
rooms,  which  are  nearly  perfect  now. 

My  Readings  from  French  Novels,  which  I  feel 
always  indebted  to  you  for  the  idea,  are  a  great  suc- 
cess. Everyone  thinks  it  is  "  perfectly  wonderful " 
how  I  can  do  it  —  but  in  reality,  it  requires  no  more 
preparation  than  in  English,  for  in  either  case,  I 
always  have  to  read  over  beforehand,  by  the  clock, 
the  extracts  I  have  made.  It  is  funny,  I  find  I  hurry 
the  French  more  than  in  English,  a  sort  of  feeling 
that  slowness  will  appear  like  hitching,  but  this  is  a 
fault  which  I  am  correcting.  I  have  bought  several 
French  things  for  this  purpose,  which  you  will  like 
—  Marivaux,  Marianne,  Diderot,  etc.  I  'm  sure  I 
could  do  it  in  German,  Spanish,  and  Italian,  if  the 
audience  were  up  to  it,  but  although  they  praise  it, 
they  don't  quite  take  in  what  a  boon  to  them  it  is, 
to  be  yanked  over  three  volumes  of  foreign  literature 
in  one  and  a  half  hours. 

I  am  thinking  that  at  Matunuck  in  July  and 
August,  I  might  have  a  sort  of  Hound  Robin  course 
of  "  readings  "  for  the  same  folks  that  belong  to  the 
Pier  talk,  anyhow  I  will  try  Mrs.  Weeden  on  it,  when 
I  get  down  there. 

Yours, 
SUSAN. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

VEKA  CKTJZ,  Monday  p.  M.,  March  SO,  1885. 
.  .  .  You  must  know  they  keep  vultures  here  to 
scavenge  the  streets,  which  they  do  very  nicely,  and 
these  great  beasts  are  sitting  all  about  on  the  roofs, 


146    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

window-tops  and  gutters,  and  making  a  most  delight- 
ful skwawk  all  the  time ;  as  if  our  sparrows  and 
pigeons  should  have  been  the  size  of  great  turkeys; 
and  they  do  keep  the  streets  clean,  for  they  shine  with 
neatness,  paved,  with  a  narrow  side-walk  and  a  gutter 
in  the  middle  of  fresh  water,  and  sort  of  bridges  at 
every  crossing,  so  as  not  to  tire  your  feet  on  the 
cobble  stones.  It  is  all  very  Spanish  but  kind  of 
worthy  as  well.  The  hotel  is  on  a  plaza  made  of  a 
bunchy  kind  of  tree  I  don't  know  yet,  and  palms. 
Down-stairs  it  is  outdoorish,  with  arcades,  up  one 
flight  the  hotel  begins,  with  brick  tile  floor,  all  open, 
one  end  of  the  great  place  is  the  dining-room,  and 
round  that,  high  double  doors  open  into  the  rooms, 
which  are  very  high,  the  partition  walls  merely 
planks;  the  door  has  a  great  key  as  big  as  a  house 
and  a  ring  to  lay  hold  of  for  a  handle,  and  a  great 
bolt  beside.  The  window  opposite  is  a  deux  batfanfat 
opening  to  the  floor  with  a  balcony  with  a  green 
wooden  railing,  and  a  rock-chair  in  it.  It  had  a  can- 
vas awning  when  I  came,  but  as  it  has  got  cool  they 
came  and  took  it  clean  away.  There  are  three  little 
beds  in  the  corners,  small  (ugly)  rugs  by  each,  the 
rest  brick,  in  diamonds.  A  very  praiseworthy  bureau 
of  pine  painted  indian  red,  and  wash-stand  ditto,  but 
a  slop-pail  and  plenty  of  water.  Below  in  the  plaza 
the  inhabitants  are  cooling  themselves  with  their  hats 
off.  The  town  is  very  quiet,  except  for  these  vultures 
conversing,  and  I  have  a  cage  full  of  canary-birds  of 
my  own  at  the  window.  I  don't  mean  I  have  bought 
them,  but  they  come  with  the  room.  A  "  nagur  "  who 
speaks  English  sits  at  the  door  to  do  anything  I  want. 
I  wish  to  live  here  always,  and  I  hear  Mrs.  Long- 
fellow does  likewise. 

There  are  horse-cars  running  through  the  straight 
street  we  are  on,  but  let  me  call  your  attention  to  the 
fact  that  they  make  not  the  slightest  noise.  You 


EUROPE,   MEXICO,   MATTJNUCK     147 

merely  hear  the  click  of  the  muleses  feet,  which  draw 
them,  and  a  low  sort  of  rumbling,  but  no  clatter,  nor 
jingling  of  bells,  only  an  occasional  toot  of  a  horn 
which  harmonises  well  with  the  vultures.  The  street 
is  only  two  stories  high,  yellow  ochre  with  bright 
green  blinds,  projecting  balconies  with  shelves  over 
them  for  the  vultures,  which  are  painted  red  (vul- 
tures very  black).  Around  the  square  are  several 
pretty  towers  and  a  dome  with  coloured  tiles,  and 
flying  buttresses,  atrocious  architecture,  I  dare  say, 
but  very  pretty,  all  very  liglit,  bright,  and  pleas- 
ing. .  .  .  Must  leave  off. 

Yours, 

SUSE. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

CITY  OF  MEXICO,  Easter,  April  5,  1885. 

DEAR  LUC., — I  must  begin,  again  to  grind  at  the 
writing-mill,  or  I  shall  get  behindhand.  This  morn- 
ing I  tackled  the  "  Family  Flight "  and  to-morrow 
shall  have  finished  all  I  need  send  home  to  "  Cocky- 
wax,"  so  that  will  be  off  my  mind.  I  am  in  my  nice 
room  at  the  Cafe  Anglais;  a  great  soup-plate  full  of 
white  roses  interspersed  with  dark  sweet-peas  is  on 
my  table,  besides  a  heavenly  little  glass  jug  (6^4 
cents)  containing  fuchsias  and  pansies.  I  bought 
these  all  in  the  market  this  morning  with  a  sweet  old 
basket  thrown  in  for  two  reales.  We  had  melon  to 
begin'  Almuerzo  and  strawberries  to  finish.  They 
have  the  latter  all  the  year  round  here.  These  were 
not  very  good,  but  were  not  the  stomachics  of 
commerce. 

Friday  was  Good  Friday,  which,  they  celebrate  here 
as  a  day  of  great  rejoicings;  all  the  world  is  in  the 
street.  We  sent  out  to  the  Zocolo  or  square  to  see 
the  crowds,  and  it  was  great  fun  buying  little  cheap 
things  at  the  booths.  This  country  is  a  great  place 


148         LETTEES    OF   SUSAN"  HALE 

for  children's  toys,  especially  this  anniversary,  for 
they  make  a  great  time  about  Judas  (Iscariot).  The 
streets  are  full  of  hideous  images  called  Judases, 
most  of  them  full  of  fireworks,  and  on  Saturday 
at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  these  are  all  set  off  amid 
pealing  of  bells.  There  are  Mrs.  Judases  as  well. 
Someone  gave  Mrs.  Church  a  little  silver  Judas;  it 
is  a  Devil ;  —  the  man  who  sold  it  said,  "  Yes,  Devil, 
yes,  Judas,  same  thing."  They  are  all  sizes  and  de- 
signs. I  have  several  choice  ones  which  we  can  set 
off  on  the  Fourth  of  July.  Then  every  being  has  in 
his  hand  a  sort  of  watchman's  rattle,  which  makes 
a  noise  called  grinding  the  bones  of  Judas,  and  these 
are  of  every  imaginable  design,  frying-pans,  bed- 
steads, locomotives,  flower-vases,  birds,  bath-tubs,  and 
then  there  are  little  wooden  carts,  with  wheels  that 
grind  the  bones.  The  true  thing  is  to  buy  your 
Judas,  selecting  him  with  care  from  millions,  and 
to  put  him  in  his  little  cart  and  draw  him  home.  We 
saw  countless  children  doing  this,  the  little  carts 
decorated  with  real  flowers,  and  the  children  so 
pleased ! 

Then  there  is  sold  everything  to  eat,  —  sugared 
banana,  flat  cakes,  pink  confections  like  in  Egypt,  — 
and  cooling  drinks,  some  a  bright  orange  colour, 
which  Nathan  says  is  very  good,  I  haven't  tried  it 
yet.  A  band  was  playing  in  the  Zocolo,  and  people 
swarming,  all  classes,  ladies  in  mantillas,  "Rag-bags" 
in  rebozos;  —  I  am  going  to  get  you  a  rebozo.  I  can't 
decide  whether  maroon  or  blue  will  be  best.  .  .  . 

Saturday  was  Judas-day,  and  we  saw  from  our 
balconies  crowds  of  Judases  carried  to  their  doom. 
These  big  ones  are  the  size  of  a  man,  made  of  frames 
covered  with  tissue  paper  or  what  masks  are  made 
of.  One  was  hung  across  corners  of  our  two  streets, 
he  had  a  grinning  face,  they  had  put  a  straw  hat  on 
him  and  festooned  him  with  bread  and  bananas.  He 


EUROPE,   MEXICO,   MATTOUCK     149 

had  a  placard  on  him  in  very  bad  spelt  Spanish,  saying 
among  other  things,  "  Adios  amigos,  voy  a  morir." 
But  we  couldn't  stop  to  see  him  morir,  but  all 
hastened  to  the  Zocolo,  where  we  got  separated  and 
I  was  alone  in  a  street  leading  off  with,  an  immense 
crowd  all  waiting  to  see  three  Judases  set  off.  They 
were  hung  on  ropes  stretched  across  the  second  story, 
and  the  crowd  pleased  themselves  with  throwing  mis- 
siles at  them,  with  yells  of  joy  when  anything  hit; 
but  very  gentle  and  polite,  and  very  nice  to  me.  At 
last  one  went  off  and  then  another  with  a  great  rush- 
ing sound,  and  snorting  smoke  and  flame  which  issued 
from  the  boots  chiefly.  Then  I  got  away  in  the  wake 
of  a  horse-car  that  cleaved  the  crowd,  —  and  found 
the  Longfellows  in  the  Cathedral  where  there  was  n't 
much  but  a  smell  of  incense.  .  .  . 

Yrs., 

SUSE. 

To  MRS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND, 
September  15,  1885. 

DEAK  CAROLINE,  —  'T  is  rather  late  in  the  day  for 
me  to  thank  you  for  taking  my  very  broad  hint  about 
Rev.  E.  E.  —  but  so  it  is  with  my  letters  as  you  well 
know.  I  was  sure  you  would  be  like  angels  to  him, 
and  so  he  says  you  were,  and  it  seemed  a  shocking 
waste  of  material  to  have  him  turned  loose  in  a  hotel. 
He  depicts  your  house,  its  hosts,  and  everything  about 
it,  in  the  most  glowing  colours. 

Well,  now,  my  dear,  I  want  to  know  if  you  would 
like  to  have  me  come  over  for  the  very  last  week  in 
October  ?  Perhaps  it  will  bore  you  to  have  anybody 
there  so  soon  before  you  shut  up  for  good,  in  which 
case,  pray  say  so.  You  know  I  don't  mind  being  in 
a  scrimmage,  and  perhaps  I  can  help,  and  anything 
irregular  about  food  don't  trouble  me,  still,  just  as 


150    LETTEES  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

like  as  not  it's  not  convenient.  The  reason  for  in- 
viting myself  so  late  is  that  I  can't  leave  here  before 
October  4  on  account  of  writing  several  books  which 
could  n't  be  done  in  connection  with  housekeeping,  — 
and  Mrs.  Church  whom  I  have  put  off  all  summer 
leaves  her  place  the  twentieth,  so  I  have  to  go  there 
before.  Besides,  you  know,  I  fear  to  go  to  Newport 
earlier  on  account  of  clothes,  which  I  haven't  any 
of  a  butterfly  nature.  I  've  had  this  on  my  mind  all 
summer,  but  have  been  so  hard  worked  there  was  not 
an  instant  to  stop  and  say  it  in.  Family  generally  of 
ten  persons,  chiefly  hungry  boys.  Three  very  "  lame 
ducks"  in  the  kitchen.  It  has  been  a  great  success. 
Everybody  singing  my  praises.  I  have  made  bread, 
—  invented  a  breakfast  cake,  —  stuffed  tomatoes,  — 
baked  gingerbread,  —  and  besides  this,  and  by  far 
the  hardest  part,  looked  after  the  wants  and  whims 
of  this  tumultuous  family  in  the  way  of  hats,  bats, 
rackets,  bathing  clothes,  saws,  scissors,  novels,  Bibles, 
pens,  ink,  gloves,  bicycles,  wheelbarrows,  water-pails, 
microscopes,  telescopes,  tennis  shoes,  pumps,  shirts, 
handkerchiefs,  overcoats,  undercoats,  pins,  needles, 
soap,  vaseline,  poetry,  prose,  dictionaries,  cyclope- 
dias, fly  powder,  paint,  screws,  hammers,  putty,  muci- 
lage, lining  silk,  envelopes,  blotting-paper,  corkscrews, 
wagons.  This  is  all  I  think  of,  things  called  for  at 
every  moment,  and  always  left  on  the  entry  table  after 
use,  and  expected  to  be  close  at  hand  the  next  time. 

But  I  love  it,  —  and  feel  that  my  talents  are  only 
fit  for  taking  care  of  a  large  household.  It  really  is 
lovely  here,  and  I  mean  to  come  back  here  for  No- 
vember after  coming  to  you,  if  you  want  me,  end  of 
next  month.  You  know  I  long  to  see  your  house. 
Haven't  heard  a  word  about  dear  William  Amory, 
have  you? 

Always  yours, 

SUSAN. 


EUKOPE,   MEXICO,   MATUNUCK     151 

To  Miss  LTICRETTA  P.  HALE 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND, 
November  IS,  1885. 

DEAR  LUC., —  ...  I  am  really  writing  twenty- 
pages  a  day  on  Spain,  and  this  leaves  me  scarce  the 
fingers  to  grip  the  pen,  so  you  must  not  expect  me 
to  dilate  much,  or  grumble  if  the  gaps  are  long.  The 
life  is  enchanting,  but  the  days  so  short.  To-day, 
weather  perfect,  —  oh,  yes!  just  perfect.  I  have 
never  seen  anything  more  lovely  than  this  soft, 
dreamy  sky.  None  of  your  crackling  October  snappy 
days  with  the  water  indigo-colour  and  everything 
sharp  and  clear,  but  all  tender,  vague,  and  yet  dis- 
tinct, and  the  colour  of  everything  wonderful  — 
aesthetic  (Liberty)  greens,  reds,  yellows,  the  prevail- 
ing tone  that  of  the  fallen  oak  leaves  which  lie  in 
masses  the  colour  of  our  check-books.  And  so 
still!  .  .  . 

Here  comes  Jane,  with  dinner,  which  is  laid  in  the 
parlour  close  to  the  open  door  on  to  the  piazza. 
Eoast  chicken,  potato,  cabbage,  pickled  walnuts, — 
baked  quince  and  cream. 

After  dinner.  —  This  is  the  true  Indian  summer. 
It  occurred  to  me  while  dining,  how  much  the  In- 
dians must  have  preferred  this  to  the  other  summer, 
but  then  whose  summer  do  you  suppose  they  called 
that  ?  I  am  now  waiting  for  my  p.  M.  tea,  which  I 
have  early,  in  order  to  get  out  among  the  hills  before 
three  o'clock,  for,  look  you,  the  sun  sets  at  four-thirty- 
two  to-day ! !  And  I  want  to  mention  that  the  sun 
rises  now  this  side  of  Point  Judith !  Over  the  water ! 
Can  you  believe  it?  So  far  south!  Seems  as  if  it 
would  get  so  far  south  as  to  rise  in  the  west.  How 
confusing  this  would  be.  This  seeing  the  sun  rise 
and  set  every  day  gives  me  a  new  and  firm  confidence 
•in  the  permanence  of  things.  Hiere  is  something 


152    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

which  really  does  happen,  straight  along,  on  which 
you  can  rely.  Pretty  sure,  as  the  old  Bird  goes  down, 
that  he'll  be  up  again  round  the  other  side. 

You  '11  think  I  'm  drivelling.  Guess  I  am.  But 
how  resting  it  is  not  to  hear  a  horse-car,  —  or  eke 
now  any  scraping  thing,  for  the  grasshoppers  are 
dumb.  .  .  . 

Yours, 

SUSE. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

OFF  FRONTERA,  Saturday,  March  6,  1886. 

DEAR  LUC.,  —  And  this,  my  dear,  is  the  Tabasco 
River,  which  Cortes  went  up,  where  he  had  his  first 
fight  with  the  Indians,  and  picked  up  Marina.  It 
is  far  off  from  us,  and  more  faint  and  dim  than  I 
have  made  it,  being  only  deep  blue  against  a  grey 
sky,  but  very  pretty.  It  is  overcast  to-day,  and 
Ernest  thinks  it  very  disagreeable ;  and  as  usual,  they 
were  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  ship  for  the  breeze 
last  night.  The  rest  of  us  think  it  a  refreshing 
change  from  the  hot  glare  of  yesterday.  We  are  wait- 
ing for  tugs  to  come  off  shore. 

Yesterday  we  were  lying  off  Campeche.  It  was 
blazing  hot,  and  no  breeze,  so  we  had  to  wait  a  long 
time  for  boats  to  come  out.  When  the  government 
one  came,  it  brought  a  party  of  ladies,  and  we  had 
great  fun  with  them  all  day,  and  much  excellent 
Spanish  practice,  for  they  pervaded  the  ship  and 
came  into  my  cabin  where  Miss  Sharp  and  I  scraped 
acquaintance.  They  were  a  mother  and  three  daugh- 
ters, and  a  friend  in  cherry-coloured  silk,  named 
Rafaela,  who  was  dressed  as  if  for  a  ball,  with  a 
pink  feather  fan.  None  of  them  had  any  bonnets  nor 
wraps,  and  the  buxom  mother  had  black  silk  slippers 
and  black  stockings  a  jour,  their  feet  and  hands  very 
small.  They  looked  untidy,  and  were  heaped  with 


EUKOPE,   MEXICO,   MATTJNUCK     153 

powder,  but  were  evidently  gentlewomen.  They 
could  all  tocar  the  piano,  and  the  mother  could  sing, 
and  was  fain  to  do  so,  but  no  one  could  play  her 
accompaniments.  We  all  did  our  best  to  entertain 
them.  Mrs.  Gross  brought  out  Huyler  candy,  and 
Mr.  Sargent  opened  a  bottle  of  champagne  at  lunch. 
At  about  2  P.  M.  I  fled  from  them  to  my  cabin, 
being  weary  of  translating,  for  I  was  the  only  one 
of  us  who  could  do  any  Spanish.  But,  lol  they  fol- 
lowed me  there,  to  ask  me  to  tell  the  stewardess  a 
commission  they  wanted  her  to  entregar  from  New 
York  next  time.  This  was,  —  what  do  you  think,  — 
false  bangs  for  their  hair !  All  the  dramatis  personce 
assembled  here  in  my  little  room.  Two  serioritas 
on  the  sofa  next  me,  Cherry-Colour  on  the  bed,  the 
stewardess  gabbling  her  fool  English  in  the  middle, 
the  madre  in  the  doorway,  Miss  Sharp  looking  on 
amazed,  —  and  looking  in  at  the  window  Senor 
Vanete,  being  introduced  to  me,  and  several  raga- 
muffins also  assisting  outside. 
There  was,  moreover,  a  child,  cet. 
about  thirteen  years,  whom  I  must 
describe.  She  came  on  at  Havana 
with  her  small  brother,  in  this 
loose,  black  garment,  with  no  hat, 
and  no  other  baggage  than  a  box 
of  cigars  under  her  arm,  from  J 
which  she  smokes  at  her  leisure.  — ' 
They  are  orphans,  and  going  to 
Vera  Cruz,  where  relatives  will  take  care  of  them. 
Of  course  we  were  all  filled  with  compassion,  and  we 
treat  them  most  friendly;  but  she  is  amply  able  to 
take  care  of  herself,  a  regular  Tilly  Slowboy,  with  a 
tin-pan  voice,  and  yelling  Havana  Spanish  all  over 
the  ship,  leading  about  her  adopted  son,  and  setting 
him  down  hard  on  benches  and  thresholds.  Neither 
has  any  other  garment  under  these  black  ones  you 


154:        LETTEES   OF  SUSAN  HALE 

see  in  the  picture,  and  his  little  legs  are  bare.  This 
pair  assisted  in  my  stateroom,  and  when  the  madre 
took  my  portfolio  to  write  her  address,  Slowboys  held 
it  up  to  steady  it,  watching  the  pen  with  amazement, 
while  the  child  poked  his  little  nose  into  my  nail- 
closet  (pour  soigner  les  mains,  I  mean).  Wasn't  it 
rich! 

Miss  Sharp  and  I  tried  to  persuade  the  Senoritas 
that  bangs  were  passes,  but,  no,  they  wanted  them. 
The  stewardess  has  brought  them  before,  to  these 
parts,  and  very  likely  to  their  friends !  So  I  drew 
pictures  of  curly  bangs  and  straight,  and  they  chose 
the  curly.  The  stewardess  cut  off  bits  of  their  hair 
to  match.  I  introduced  Senor  Vanete  to  the  stew- 
ardess ;  for  he  is  government  agent  at  Campeche,  who 
must  come  on  board  every  trip,  and  she  will  give  the 
bangs  to  him,  and  he  will  entregarlos  to  the  Senori- 
tas. I  had  just  learned  this  word  "  entregar  "  in  my 
meisterschaft,  and  very  useful  it  was. 

They  gave  me  the  Mexican  pesos  (the  wretch  of 
a  stewardess  pretended  the  bangs  would  cost  five  dol- 
lars a  piece)  and  I  gave  it  to  her.  The  Senoritas  put 
on  fresh  powder  at  my  looking-glass,  we  kissed  all 
round,  and  they  put  off  for  shore,  while  we  got  up 
steam  and  sailed  away.  This  alone  would  have  made 
a  stirring  day  of  it,  and  we  went  joyfully  to  dinner 
after  their  departure ;  but  had  to  leave  coffee  and  fly 
to  the  bow,  for  an  annular  eclipse  was  going  on !  We 
were  just  in  line  for  it,  as  it  wasn't  visible  above 
Tampico.  It  was  wonderfully  lovely,  a  sight  for  a 
life-time.  It  came  on  gradually  as  the  sun  was  set- 
ting, and  at  first  we  could  only  look  at  it  through  the 
captain's  sextant,  it  was  so  dazzling.  Just  as  it 
touched  the  horizon  it  blazed  out  in  fiery  splendour 
to  the  naked  eye  from  a  cloud  which  had  hidden  it 
a  minute  or  two.  It  was  almost  fearful,  such  a  new 
sign  in  the  heavens.  Then  it  sank,  becoming  like  a 


EUROPE,   MEXICO,   MATUNUCK     155 

fairy  car;  then  it  disappeared  gradually  till  only  the 
upper  horn  was  there ;  then  a  gleam  like  a  lighthouse 
and  then  —  gone!  The  brilliant  after-glow  had  gaps 
of  darkness  in  it  as  we  sometimes  see  at  Matunuck. 
Our  good  captain  was  greatly  pleased  at  the  success 
of  his  entertainment.  I  think  I  had  best  wind  this 
up  now,  as  we  land  to-morrow  early,  unless  we  catch 
a  norther  before  reaching  Vera  Cruz.  .  .  . 

Yrs, 
SUSIE. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

PATZCUARO,  Wednesday,  March  17,  1886. 
DEAR  LUC.,  .  .  .  On  Friday  about  noon  we  alighted 
at  this  hotel.  I  wish  I  could  accustom  you  to  these 
porte-cocheres  leading  through  the  house  to  the  patio, 
the  stairs  let  into  the  house  opening  on  the  upper 
gallery,  which  is  adorned  with  great  red  wooden  pots 
of  blooming  plants.  On  this  gallery  open  all  the 
rooms  with  glass  double  doors,  and  the  rooms  lead 
through  to  the  square,  where  they  overlook  the  scene 
from  little  balconies.  There  was  a  good  deal  of 
scrimmage  with  our  big  party,  before  we  got  settled 
into  the  rooms.  The  hosts  knew  absolutely  no  word 
of  any  known  language  but  Spanish,  and  the  mozos 
are  Indian,  who  are  slow  to  comprehend  my  conver- 
sation. The  hotel  is  lovely,  clean,  odd,  and  different, 
but  the  beds  are  fearful !  a  simple  board,  really,  with 
no  spring  to  it  whatever,  and  on  top,  a  thin  sort  of 
mattress,  and  two  bolsters  like  logs  of  wood.  My 
little  pillow,  therefore,  is  very  grateful.  The  food  is 
also  very  singular,  and  the  delicate  stomachs  of  the 
party  touch  nothing  of  it.  I  don't  mind  that,  but  I 
must  say  I  regret  the  bed,  for  it  has  started  up  my 
sciatic  nerve,  and  it  is  agony  to  turn  over.  However, 
it  wears  off  daytimes,  and  I  merely  mention  it  as 
an  incident  du  voyage.  I  am  interpreter  for  the 


156    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

party,  although.  Mr.  Church  does  perfectly  well  about 
ordering  things,  but  you  know  it  is  always  on  the 
one  that  knows  most  that  the  brunt  falls.  Mr.  War- 
ner is  rather  funny  but  perfectly  distracting  in  mix- 
ing up  words  partly  on  purpose.  He  tells  me  to  order 
beer,  for  instance,  and  then  just  as  the  mozo  has 
grasped  the  idea,  he  says  "  leche  "  to  him  merely  for 
a  joke,  and  then  is  disappointed  when  milk  comes. 
In  fact  the  rest  of  Friday  was  rather  trying  all  round. 
It  was  very  cold.  ...  I  thought  sadly  of  my  trunk 
full  of  warm  things  at  the  Morelia  station,  which  I 
might  have  brought  just  as  well,  since  we  had  the 
whole  coach  to  ourselves  coming.  There  is  a  howling 
wind  at  Patzcuaro  which  swoops  down  the  open  top 
of  the  patio;  in  fact,  this  is  not  the  right  season  to 
be  here;  they  say  the  winds  cease  in  April. 

However,  Mr.  Brown  and  I  carried  the  thing 
through  by  our  lively  spirits  (perhaps  a  little  forced 
for  the  occasion),  and  by  an  early  hour  we  were  all 
on  bed,  with  towels  and  water  and  more  blankets 
ordered  by  me  in  all  the  rooms. 

Saturday  started  better.  They  were  rested  and 
began  to  see  the  delightful  charm  of  the  character- 
istic village.  We  look  down  on  a  great  plaza  planted 
with  old  ash-trees.  The  natives  squat  about  selling 
things.  There  is  a  great  fountain  in  the  middle  — 
and  when  we  clap  our  hands,  Vincenzo  runs  out  with 
two  great  tin  pails,  and  dips  up  ice-cold  water.  I 
began  a  sketch  down  by  the  front  door,  and  all  Patz- 
cuaro came  round  to  look  on.  They  were  very  nice, 
and  when  they  pressd  too  close  I  waved  them  back 
saying,  "No  puedo  dibujar"  then  the  little  boys 
would  smile  with  their  white  teeth,  and  whisper,  "  No 
puede  dibujar.,"  and  when  new  ones  came  they  would 
explain  it  to  them.  They  found  a  natural  screen 
from  the  sun  which  grew  hot,  —  they  didn't  smell 
very  well,  but  that  was  no  harm.  When  it  was  all 


EUKOPE,   MEXICO,   MATUNUCK     157 

over,  and  I  had  come  up-stairs,  a  man  appeared 
below,  whose  conversation  I  understood  with  great 
difficulty.  After  a  long  time  it  came  out  that  he  had 
run  to  fetch  a  soldado  to  protect  me  from  the  crowd, 
and  lo!  there  was  the  soldado  with  musket  (fife  and 
drum,  not  these  latter)  clad  in  the  white  uniform  of 
the  country.  They  were  quite  disappointed  that  I 
would  not  come  out  and  dibujar  some  more  to  utilize 
the  soldado.  Meantime  Downie  with  Messrs.  Warner 
and  Brown  skipped  up  to  the  top  of  a  mountain 
where  there  is  a  delightful  view  of  the  lake,  and  all 
had  good  appetites  for  the  singular  food  furnished 
us.  No  sooner  had  we  arrived  than  people  began 
to  call  on  us,  who  had  known  Mr.  Church  here  before. 
At  every  minute  I  was  called  from  whatever  I  was 
doing  to  interpret  these  visitors,  and  it  happens  so 
still,  so  that  I  have  very  little  time  to  write  or  sketch. 
Of  these  amiable  gentlemen  of  Patzcuaro  I  will  select 
two  for  mention,  as  they  have  become  our  intimate 
friends.  One  is  Senor  Pablo  Plata,  who  keeps  the 
diligences  between  here  and  the  railroad.  When  I 
consulted  him  about  expeditions,  he  said  he  would 
furnish  horses,  mozos  and  everything  to  go  to  Tzint- 
zuntzan.  This  seemed  passing  strange  before  we 
found  out  he  was  the  diligence  man.  You  see  the 
Churches  can't  do  much,  but  Mr.  Warner  is  wild  to 
be  heiking  about  To  cut  short  endless  discussions 
in  Spanish  and  English,  Mr.  W.  and  I  started  on 
two  horses  Monday  morning,  to  make  that  expedi- 
tion. The  Browns  left  at  about  the  same  time  in 
diligence  on  their  way  home  to  Estados  Unidos,  via 
Mexico,  so  that  was  the  last  of  them. 

I  was  very  averse  to  taking  this  trip  partly  through 
fear  of  the  horse,  partly  on  account  of  leaving  the 
Churches,  and  also  because  I  had  absolutely  nothing 
proper  to  wear  on  horseback,  all  my  thick  things,  as 
previously  remarked,  being  at  Morelia.  It  is  a  long 


158    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

trip  of  thirty  miles,  there  and  back,  and  I  was  by 
no  means  rested  yet  since  the  steamer  and  the  rapid 
transit  hither.  But  Mr.  Warner  was  determined  I 
should  go  to  do  his  Spanish,  and  Mr.  Church  also 
urged  me  to,  as  a  chance  not  to  be  lost. 

So  with  a  heart  low  in  my  boots  I  descended  to  the 
patio  to  subir  my  caballo.  Now  what  do  you  think 
I  had  on  for  a  riding  habit  ?  —  my  striped  blue  and 
red  dressing-gown !  I  wore  under  it  my  old  brown 
satin  skirt,  and  looped  up  the  tail  of  the  wrapper 
over  this  in  walking,  but  on  the  horse  it  hung  down 
quite  long  and  clingy.  It  was  belted  with  the  maroon 
belt  of  my  travelling  dress,  and  I  wore  my  old  "  land 
and  water"  felt  hat  (maroon,  of  last  summer)  firmly 
pinned  and  tied  on.  Furthermore,  Senor  Pablo,  by 
request,  brought  a  serape  which  I  wound  about  my 
legs,  and  then  clomb  from  a  chair  into  a  sorry  saddle, 
boosted  by  two  Arabs,  —  I  mean  Indios;  Mr.  War- 
ner, you  may  well  believe,  was  fully  occupied  by  his 
mount.  My  sciatic  nerve  made  my  left  leg  so  stiff 
that  it  was  only  with  agony  I  got  it  in  the  stirrup. 
I  was  ready  to  cry,  really.  Mr.  W.  and  Don  Pablo 
started  off  at  a  lively  trot  out  of  the  archway,  and 
I  and  my  caballo  came  after  with  the  mozo.  Just 
as  we  reached  the  street  my  horse  planted  his  feet, 
began  to  back,  turn  round  and  do  other  sudden  things 
like  the  camel,  which  swayed  me  in  my  uncertain 
seat.  All  the  Indios  began  to  "shew"  and  "shish" 
at  him,  which  made  him  act  worse.  I  suppose  I 
pressed  my  foot  too  much  in  the  stirrup,  snap  went 
its  strap,  and  it  clattered  down  on  the  pavement! 
This  was  lucky,  for  it  was  a  rotten  old  bit  of  leather. 
I  was  now  in  despair.  Mrs.  Church  was  leaning  on 
the  balcony  above,  and  I  cried  out,  "  I  don't  believe 
I  can  go! "  (You  know  I  had  never  wished  to  for 
an  instant.) 

However,  mozos  had  run  after  Don  Pablo,  and  they 


EUKOPE,   MEXICO,   MATUNUCK     159 

came  back;  a  small  piece  of  string  was  discovered 
somewhere  in  the  town  and  my  stirrup  tied  on  again. 
I  beseeched  Mr.  Warner  not  to  go  off  so  far  again 
(not  that  he  was  any  good,  but  Don  Pablo  was),  and 
we  all  set  off.  Mr.  Warner  was  on  a  great,  beautiful 
black  mule,  and  he  was  utterly  happy.  And  now  the 
tone  changes,  for  in  a  very  few  minutes  I  became 
used  to  the  saddle  and  the  horse,  which  was  very 
gentle.  The  rest  of  the  straps  seemed  stout  and 
strong  and  there  was  no  further  difficulty.  The  ex- 
pedition was  most  interesting;  the  day  was  lovely. 
Pablo  and  I  prattled  lightly  in  Spanish  all  the  way, 
and  Mr.  Warner  was  kind  and  attentive,  and  as  al- 
ways very  agreeable.  As  soon  as  I  tasted  blood  of 
being  on  a  horse  all  my  ancient  love  of  it  revived, 
and  coming  home  I  trotted  almost  all  the  way  with- 
out the  slightest  fear. 

Tzintzuntzan  is  a  very  ancient  Indian  village. 
The  palace  of  King  Caltzontzi  was  in  the  neighbour- 
hood ;  we  saw  the  pile  of  stones,  its  ruins.  The  town 
was  the  seat  of  the  earliest  bishopric  in  Michoacan, 
and  the  first  viceroys  built  churches  and  made  good 
roads  to  it.  All  that  has  now  gone  by,  but  it  is  in- 
teresting for  its  primitive  Indian  population,  and 
besides,  there  is  a  picture  in  the  church  well  worth 
seeing.  If  not  by  Titian,  which  is  very  probable, 
it  is  by  somebody  who  knew  how.  There  is  a  por- 
trait of  Philip  II  in  the  corner,  one  of  the  figures, 
and  the  legend  is  that  he  sent  it  over  here  to  his 
faithful  subjects  in  Tzintzuntzan. 

The  Churches  went  over  there  to  see  it  a  couple 
of  years  ago,  in  canoes  on  the  lake ;  but  we  were  told 
that  now  the  winds  are  so  strong  it  would  be  vain  to 
try  getting  there  and  back  on  the  lake.  Hence  the 
horses. 

The  lake,  you  must  know,  is  twenty  miles  long,  and 
surrounded  by  beautiful  mountains,  which,  as  we,  at 


160    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

the  foot  of  them,  are  over  six  thousand  feet  up,  must 
be  ten  or  eleven  thousand  feet  high.  Our  road  went 
winding  along  the  shore,  sometimes  climbing  spurs 
of  high  land  running  out  into  the  water.  The  weather 
was  delicious  like  our  June,  not  too  hot,  but  not  the 
least  cold.  The  country  is  parched  and  bare  wait- 
ing for  rains  which  begin  in  April.  It  all  looks  dry 
and  dreary;  cracked  and  dusty,  yet  the  peach  trees 
are  in  blossom,  and  wild  cherry,  and  hawthorn,  and 
Eupatorium  grows  every  where  on  bushes  ten  feet 
high  massed  with  white  blossoms.  The  other  things 
look  like  October,  thistles  and  asters  gone  to  seed, 
and  the  like.  But  there  are  lots  of  pretty  flowers  of 
the  labiate  tribe,  all  colours,  and  a  pale  poppy  with 
prickly  leaves.  Then  we  kept  meeting  Indios  bring- 
ing loads  of  pottery  on  their  backs,  brown  men,  mod- 
erately clad  in  dirty  white,  with  bare  legs,  hurrying 
along  at  a  short  trot  they  have, 
which  gets  them  over  the 
ground  though  it  seems  not  to. 
But  this  must  go. 


We  left  here  about  seven  in 
the  morning,  and  got  to  Tzint- 
zuntzan  at  ten-thirty.  We 
alighted  from  our  horses  un- 
der a  tree  in  the  middle  of  the  town,  there  being 
no  inn,  and  stood  and  looked  about  us.  I  strolled 
through  a  tumble-down  gateway  into  a  snarly  place 
where  great  huge  pink  roses  were  sprawling  on 
vines,  and  two  blue  women  with  red  jugs  were 
drawing  water  at  a  yellow  stone  well.  Then  Don 
Pablo  took  us  into  the  Hall  of  Justice  where  there 
was  a  coat  of  arms  of  three  Aztec  kings  with  one  of 
them,  Catlzontzi,  quartered  just  as  he  was  embracing 
the  Christian  faith,  —  I  mean  quartered  on  the  coat 
of  arms.  After  this  we  went  to  the  church  where 


EUKOPE,   MEXICO,   MATTJNUCK     161 

the  picture  is;  it  is  in  a  waste  place  planted  with 
immense  olive-trees  so  old  they  are  tumbling  to  pieces. 
The  church  has  a  quiet  cloister  with  round  arches, 
painted  pink  and  yellow  as  everything  is  here;  the 
picture  is  in  the  sacristy.  It  is  fine  and  very  im- 
pressive, Christ  borne  from  the  sepulchre,  surrounded 
by  the  women,  St.  John,  etc.,  a  bit  of  very  Titian- 
esque  landscape  in  the  distance.  It  is  startling  to 
see  a  picture  so  fine  (whoever  painted  it)  in  this 
strange  place  where  all  the  church  decorations  are 
of  the  most  crude  description,  in  a  barn-like  sacristy, 
not  very  different  from  the  Da  Vinci  "  Last  Supper  " 
stable.  There  is  no  date,  no  signature,  and  only 
the  scantest  legend.  The  Republica  seems  to  take 
no  interest  in  it,  —  it  neither  steals  nor  protects  it. 
The  Indios  stood  about  with  heads  uncovered  while 
we  studied  it,  and  Mr.  Warner  wrote  a  careful  de- 
scription of  the  figures.  He,  of  course,  is  sight-seeing 
to  write  later. 

We  then  strolled  down  to  a  friend  of  Don  Pablo's 
to  eat  our  food.  .  .  .  This  friend  of  Don  Pablo's 
was  a  lady  who  lived  in  a  corner  of  a  street  in  a  little 
adobe  house  with  tiled  roof  like  the  rest.  There  was 
a  little  shop  with  counter  through  which  we  passed 
to  a  great  room  with  no  windows  to  it,  lighted  only 
by  that  door  and  another  one  which  opened  into  a 
bright  garden.  She  was  for  shutting  this  door  so 
the  perro  need  n't  come  in,  but  I  said  I  would  see  to 
the  perro.  The  floor  was  but  the  trodden  earth,  the 
sides  of  ramshakly  wood;  —  the  garden  was  very 
pretty  and  sunny,  contained,  besides  cactuses,  of 
which  the  woman  gave  us  beautiful  blossoms,  a  pig 
and  a  dog,  two  cats,  two  children,  and  a  little  miss 
of  thirteen  years,  in  a  blue  rebozo. 

While  my  men  went  off  somewhere  with  the  horses, 
I  took  our  package  of  food  put  up  at  this  hotel  before 
we  started,  fetched  a  wooden  table  out  into  the  light 


162    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

part  of  the  room  by  the  door,  called  for  plates,  knives, 
forks,  etc.  The  lady  took  these  from  a  sort  of  shelves 
she  had,  but  she  only  owned  two  forks  and  two  tum- 
blers; there  was  a  mug  of  Guadalajara  ware  we  used 
for  the  third.  The  children  stood  amazed  as  I  did 
these  things,  and  the  cats  came  round  and  mewed  for 
food.  Our  parcel  contained  one  lean  hen  stuffed 
with  arroz,  three  hunks  of  Mexican  bread,  a  piece  of 
hard  cheese,  and  two  bottles  wine,  —  their  claret,  not 
bad.  I  carved  the  hen  with  a  knife  and  my  fingers, 
for  the  tenedor  (fork)  bent  double  as  I  stuck  it  in 
the  hardened  breast  of  the  bird.  Then  I  summoned 
Dons  Warner  and  Pablo,  and  we  ate  rapturously  of 
our  meal  —  giving  the  carcass  and  bread  to  the  mozo, 
and  small  bones  to  the  two  cats,  who  sate  by  and 
mewed.  The  small  child  yelled  and  was  spanked  by 
his  mama.  Then  we  thanked  them  all  round  and 
went  away. 

We  walked  down  to  the  shore  of  the  lake,  and  saw 
men  pull  in  nets  with  which  they  were  catching  a 
small  white  fish,  which  abounds ;  we  went  to  several 
pottery  places  where  they  always  gave  us  pockets  full 
of  little  toy  ware.  Then  I  made  a  very  hasty  sketch, 
we  looked  once  more  at  the  noble  picture,  and  then 
mounted  again  at  about  3 :  30  p.  M.  to  ride  back.  It 
seemed  perfect  rest  to  get  up  on  the  horse  again  after 
dragging  round  the  ill-paved  streets.  Every  body 
wished  us  good-bye,  and  we  trotted  out  of  town 
gaily- 

The  ride  back  was  lovely  facing  the  west,  the  wind 
made  ripples  in  the  lake  which  broke  like  surf  upon 
the  shore.  Don  Pablo  went  fast  asleep  on  his  good, 
white  steed,  and  I  was  glad  of  a  let-up  of  Spanish 
conversation. 

This  excursion,  so  successful,  determined  Mr.  War- 
ner to  go  on  to  TJruapan,  forty-five  miles  off,  on  the 
same  mule,  and  he  wanted  me  to  go  too.  I  was 


EUKOPE,   MEXICO,   MATUNUCK     163 

tempted  to,  for  we  are  all  dying  to  get  there,  but 
there  is  no  road  whatever  to  speak  of,  so  it  is  out  of 
the  question  for  Churches.  Don  Pablo  agreed  to  go, 
and  to  manage  the  whole  thing,  and  in  the  end  he 
set  out  with  Mr.  Warner  Wednesday  morning;  but 
by  great  strength  of  will  I  succeeded  in  keeping  out 
of  it.  It  would  have  been  fearfully  tiring,  for  they 
come  back  to-morrow !  One  day  to  go,  forty-five 
miles,  one  to  stay,  sight-seeing  and  no  rest,  and  one 
to  come  back.  I  have  rejoiced  unceasingly  that  I 
did  not  go,  but  Mr.  W.  was  pretty  wroth  with  me, 
and  tried  to  make  the  Churches  make  me  go;  but 
Mr.  C.,  in  fact,  the  Mexicans,  all  said  it  was  too  hard 
a  journey.  .  .  . 

We  now  come  to  our  second  hospitable  friend, 
Senor  Pancho  Arriaga,  whose  brother  married  the 
sister  of  Don  Pablo.  Why  he  is  so  devoted  we  can't 
imagine,  but  he  every  day  devises  some  nice  thing 
to  do.  Tuesday  he  heiked  us  all  forth  early  in  the 
morning  to  the  lake,  which  is  two  or  three  miles  away 
from  the  town,  Mr.  Church  in  a  sedan  chair  (my 
dear!  like  yours,  only  blue!)  and  Mrs.  C.,  Downie, 
and  I  on  donkeys.  We  went  to  the  Hacienda  de 
Ybarra,  which  his  father  used  to  own,  and  there  we 
embarked  in  a  canoa  (or  dug-out)  and  were  spooned 
about  the  lake,  landed  at  a  village  where  there  is  a 
picture  of  some  merit,  a  Madonna,  date,  1702,  but 
not  very  interesting,  except  that  it  is  in  a  sort  of 
pigsty,  and  belongs  to  a  native  Indian  woman,  hav- 
ing been  in  her  family  for  sixty  years. 

We  loved  the  donkey  business  so  that  we  arranged 
for  another  trip  the  next  day.  That  was  Wednesday 
p.  M.  I  sketched  in  the  morning ;  at  four  Senor 
Pancho  came  for  us,  and  the  cavalcade  proceeded 
as  before,  Senor  P.  always  on  his  own  horse,  hung 
about  with  lorgnons,  guns,  umbrellas,  etc.,  and  on  the 
lake  he  shot  a  Gallina,  a  strange  bluish  water-fowl, 


164         LETTEKS    OF   SUSAN   HALE 

which,  he  presented  to  Mr.  Church.  The  saddle  for 
donkeys  here  is  a  simple  saw-horse,  which  fits  over 
them  in  a  rather  agreeable  manner.  It  shuts  up  flat 
when  not  in  use,  like  carpet-chairs.  We  were  all  very 
happy  on  our  "  donks.",  and  this  expedition  up  the 
mountain  was  lovely.  It  is  steep,  looking  off  on  the 
lake,  and  we  stopped  at  a  rock  on  which  Baron  Hum- 
boldt  erst  stood.  The  donkey-man  was  an  old  rap- 
scallion, with  one  tooth  and  a  white  beard.  The  rest 
of  him  was  brown,  except  such  scanty  portions  as 
were  covered  with  ragged  shirt  and  trousers  long 
since  white,  a  red  woolen  faja  girt  about  his  waist, 
his  feet  tied  up  in  flat  sandals  with  thongs,  a  leathern 
pouch  hanging  down  in  front,  and  an  old  serape  on 
his  shoulders  —  a  torn  straw  sombrero  on  his  head. 
I  had  a  great  deal  of  talk  with  him,  though,  owing 
to  his  tooth  and  extraction,  he  avoids  every  consonant 
in  his  speech,  which  makes  it  hard  to  comprehend. 
We  saw  the  puesta  del  sol  from  the  height,  and  as 
we  came  back  it  grew  dark  and  was  lovely  moonlight. 
My  saw-horse  came  all  to  pieces  up  on  the  mountain, 
so  I  got  off  and  walked  down,  —  but  resumed  the 
donkey  in  the  streets,  clinging  on  to  a  fragment  of 
the  wood. 

Thursday  was  passed  peacefully.  Our  course  here 
is  thus :  Downie  shares  my  room,  she  gets  dressed  and 
out  about  seven-thirty,  then  I  come  forth  in  my 
riding  habit  (the  striped  dressing)  clap  my  hands 
over  the  railing,  and  Vincenzio  comes  running  out 
with  a  red  bed-blanket  round  him  (which  I  'm  sorry 
to  say  is  superseding  the  serape),  "  Aqua  fria,  y  mas 
toallas!"  I  cry.  "  What !  "  says  V.,  "  mas  toallas!  " 
as  if  the  idea  of  fresh  towels  was  an  absolutely  new 
one.  To-day  he  informed  me  that  the  masters  had 
gone  to  mass  at  Santo  Calvario,  and  had  locked  up 
the  towels  before  leaving,  so  we  all  had  to  do  without. 
He  runs  to  the  fountain  in  the  square,  and  dips  up 


EUKOPE,   MEXICO,   MATUNUCK     165 

two  great  pails  of  splendid  cold  water  and  comes 
running  up  into  the  rooms  to  fill  the  basins.  Slings 
the  old  water  down  into  the  patio,  and  leaves  with  a 
radiant  smile.  "Now,  Vincenzio,  you  know  we 
others  desire  the  coffee  immediately."  "Ya!???" 
He  exclaims  —  which  is  to  say,  "What!  coffee, 
now?"  "Why,  certainly,  we  always  have  it  at  las 
ocho  !  "  "  Oh,  ya !  "  he  says  and  runs  away  again. 
This  "  Fa"  is  dejd  (French),  but  is  used  for  "right 
off,"  "hurry  up,"  etc.  I  have  just  got  the  hang  of 
it.  Vincenzio  now  runs  up  with  tumblers  for  the 
coffee  and  a  lacquered  waiter  heaped  with  different 
kinds  of  bread.  Then  runs  again  for  the  coffee-pot, 
and  a  great  pot  full  of  hot  milk.  He  always  forgets 
the  sugar  which  is  kept  in  the  office-and-bar-room  for 
some  reason,  so  runs  to  fetch  that.  Mr.  Church 
comes  out  and  we  all  fall  to.  At  twelve  or  there- 
abouts, the  same  struggle  begins  for  our  next  meal. 
"  What,  ya !  "  says  Vincenzio.  "  Yes,  yes,  tenemoz 
muclio  hambre!"  (We  are  now  in  that  condition, 
and  have  been  nagging  V.  for  our  dinner,  but  he  is 
making  the  beds  and  can't  attend  to  it.)  The  morn- 
ing goes  to  sketching,  strolling  in  the  market,  enter- 
taining Don  Pancho,  and  the  like.  We  have  comida 
down-stairs  in  a  room  with  no  windows,  a  big  door 
on  the  patio.  Vincenzio  runs  with  one  dish  after 
another.  Slight  naps  ensue  or  extension  on  our  hard 
beds,  and  then  the  burros  come  for  these  expeditions. 
Last  evening  the  sunset  was  superb,  we  saw  it  from 
a  point  near  the  lovely  lake,  and  walked  home  by 
moonlight,  always  accompanied  by  Don  Pancho,  and 
doing  Spanish. 

Mr.  Warner  will  be  back  to-night,  probably,  and 
the  whole  coach  is  engaged  for  to-morrow  to  take  us 
back  to  Morelia,  or  rather  to  the  railroad,  which  is 
halfway.  We  have  been  a  week,  and  it  has  been  very 
amusing.  Mrs.  Church  is  lots  better,  and  Mr.  Church 


166    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

is  delighted  with  the  place.  Still  I  am  dying  to  see 
my  trunk,  which  may  be  mashed  under  others  at  the 
Morelia  station,  and  we  are  hoth  longing  for  letters, 
which  must  be  there,  I  think  by  this  time.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSAN. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Summer  at  MatunucTc,  1886  —  Winter  in  Paris  with 
her  nephew,  Philip  L.  Hale  —  Spring  in  Spain, 
1887  —  Matunuck,  1887  —  Matunuck  again, 
1888. 

(1886-1888) 

To  Miss  LUCEETIA  P.  HALE 

MATUNUOK,  May  29,  1886. 
Month  last  evening  I  left  Mexico  ! 

DEAE  LUC.,  —  Seems  as  though  I  had  skurse  writ- 
ten you  enough  this  week,  as  I  have  been  terrible 
busy  with  setting  to  rights  and  the  Index  of  Spain; 
so  as  I  don't  feel  like  tackling  my  daily  jorum  of 
said  index,  and  do  feel  like  writing  to  you,  I  will 
anticipate  the  Sunday,  as  I  may  not  feel  like  writing 
then.  (Not  that  I  generally  write  you  on  Sunday, 
as  that  is  your  day.) 

I  probably  feel  like  addressing  you  because  it's 
deliciously  warm  this  morning.  You  know  it  is  not 
always  here ;  yet,  indeed,  there  is  much  to  be  desired 
in  that  respect,  for  howling  winds  prevail  most  of 
the  time,  but  this  morning  is  simply  perfect.  I  had 
my  breakfast  in  the  front  door,  with  the  sun  slanting 
across  the  porch,  and  all  sweet  airs  and  sounds  com- 
ing in.  The  breakfast  was  excellent,  faultless  coffee, 
rich  cream,  brown  sugar,  nice  butter,  fresh  eggs  (the 
gift  of  Cornelia  Franklin),  dropped  by  myself  on 
toast  made  of  bread,  providentially  driven  to  the 
door  yesterday  by  the  Wakefield  baker.  My  pretty 
china,  the  fruits  of  Christmas  presents  in  a  great 
measure,  enables  me  to  have  all  red  ware,  with  the 


168    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

sugar  in  a  little  red  Guadalajara  tub.  Jane  suc- 
ceeded this  morning  in  only  introducing  one  dish  of 
a  different  pattern.  This  is  her  passion,  though 
there  are  plenty  of  things  that  match,  to  suddenly 
spring  on  me  a  blue  plate,  with  butter,  in  the  midst 
of  my  red  group  —  though  just  as  likes  the  night  be- 
fore when  all  was  blue,  the  butter  came  on  red.  But 
why  mention  these  vagaries.  I  don't  even  regret 
them.  .  .  . 

I  believe  my  idea  was  to  tell  you  of  my  walk  to 
Cornelia's  yesterday.  The  days  are  so  immensely 
long,  that  by  starting  at  five-thirty  there  is  time  for 
anything.  So  I  finished  my  old  green  and  red  plaid 
skirt  (which  I  have  all  ripped,  sponged,  and  ironed, 
and  put  together  again  since  I  came),  put  it  on,  and 
strolled  forth.  It  is  enchanting  outdoors,  just  that 
fascinating  hint  of  green  to  come,  on  all  the  trees. 

In  the  distance  I  saw  Cornelia  at  her  tubs.  It 
was  a  pretty  picture.  The  sun  was  slanting  over  her 
old  house  and  a  mass  of  lilac  bushes,  or  rather  im- 
mense lilac  trees  which  overtop  and  surround  the 
house.  Her  celebrated  fly-honeysuckle  is  all  in 
flower,  and  there,  close  to  it,  she  stood,  such  a  good 
bit  of  colour,  brown  herself,  with  a  red  gown  and 
her  grey,  short,  crisp  hair  blowing  about  her  fore- 
head. "  Well,  there,  Miss  Susy,  I  heared  as  you  was 
come !  "  She  is  cleaning  "  haouse,"  as  most  of  them 
are  here,  which  consists  in  setting  everything  out- 
doors for  the  moment,  beds,  rocking-chairs,  pots  and 
pans,  and  especially  stone  jugs,  which  seem  a  great 
article  of  furniture  here.  She  was  really  employed 
in  scraping  the  putty  from  a  window-casement,  and 
washing  the  panes,  which  she  had  removed  from  the 
house,  and  had  resting  across  the  wash-tub.  Of 
course  she  gave  me  plenty  "  loilacs "  and  honey- 
suckles, and  eke  half  a  dozen  fresh  eggs  in  a  peach 
basket,  which  proved  to  be  eight  when  I  got  them 


MATTTNTJCK,   PAKIS,    SPAIN         169 

home,  which  I  did  in  great  fear  and  trembling,  on 
account  of  so  many  fences  to  climb,  as  I  came  all  up 
round  Long  Pond,  .  .  .  pausing  for  the  sunset  on 
Ingham's  peak.  It  was  a  quarter  of  eight  when  I 
arrived  here,  found  Jane  "loighting"  the  fire,  not 
yet  quite  dark. 

I've  got  a  great  mass  of  lilacs  and  dwarf  cherry 
blossom  in  my  Appleton  vase,  which,  though  broken, 
lends  itself  to  these  uses.  Eeal  Solomon's-seal  and 
eurigeron  or  robins'  plantain  in  a  blue  beer-mug, 
wistaria  from  Aunty  in  my  red  bowl.  These  two  on 
the  mantelpiece.  Ely-honeysuckle  in  my  glass  jug, 
—  and  Margy's  glass  pail  full  of  great  jack-in-the- 
pulpits,  side-saddle  flower,  trientalis  and  two  are- 
thusas  on  my  davenport  where  I  write.  Jander  sits 
on  the  corner  shelf,  and  the  donkey  by  the  hearth. 
'Palus  keeps  the  bookcase  doors  to.  Thus  you  see 
how  delightfully  dawdling  it  is,  —  as  I  just  stopped 
to  look  out  the  Aster  in  the  Botany.  But  I  am  busy 
all  day  long;  the  great  sticker  is  the  length  of  time 
required  to  read  the  newspapers !  I  take  in  three, 
the  Daily,  Prov.  Journal,  and  N.  Y.  Comm.  Adver- 
tiser, which  being  an  evening  paper,  gets  here  quite 
fresh  the  next  day,  —  thus  I  have  news  of  three 
periods,  morning  before,  evening  before,  and  same 
day.  As  they  all  say  the  same  thing,  —  spiders,  with 
eyes  all  round,  would  read  them  at  the  same  time  — 
since  it  is  only  necessary  for  the  brain  to  grasp  one 
impression  which  could  be  done  at  once.  (This  sug- 
gestion seems  to  me  quite  in  your  vein.) 

You  see  I  breakfast  at  seven-thirty.  Fool  outdoors 
with  killing  aphides  and  the  like  till  about  eight- 
thirty.  Write  letters  till  early  mail,  then  do  Index 
till  "  abaout "  noon.  Then  see  about  dinner,  perhaps 
cook  something,  otherwise  clear  out  closets,  drawers, 
rooms,  attics,  of  which  there  seems  always  no  end. 
Dinner  table  set  anywhere  it  is  warm  enough,  either 


170    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  BALE 

by  sun  or  wood-fire,  if  required.  Newspapers  and 
outdoors  dawdling  till  2  P.M.  then  sewing  till  five, 
diversified  by  p.  M.  tea.  Long  walks  or  visit  to 
Aunty,  or  both,  —  home,  as  aforesaid,  for  evening 
meal  (slight)  at  eight  —  then  more  newspapers,  and 
whatever  novel  there  is  time  for  till  nine,  bedtime  — 
but  last  night  I  sate  with  Jander  over  "La  Morte" 
and  crackling  fire  till  ten-thirty !  Ain't  it  nice ! 

Yours, 

SUSE. 

To  MRS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND, 
September  11*,  1886. 

.  .  .  The  young  people  had  a  merry  time  here 
through  August  and  went  off  singing  my  praises  and 
those  of  Hotel  Susan.  But  there  is  a  good  deal  of 
clatter  and  bang  about  running  such  a  household,  and 
I  now  feel  like  a  fool,  or  a  squeezed  lemon,  or  a 
pricked  balloon,  or  any  of  these  things.  There  is 
nobody  here  now  but  Philip,  may  the  Lord  be 
praised!  .  .  . 

We  have  all  been  writing  Lives  of  Great  Men, 
which  all  of  course  remind  us  we  can  make  our  lives 
sublime,  but  also  give  us  a  good  sum  of  money,  for 
a  sort  of  text-book  for  schools,  telling  who  bornedr 
them  and  when  they  died.  It  was  a  great  hack  job 
for  a  publisher,  and  Jack,  Nelly,  Papa,  and  I  have 
been  cramming  up  and  scribbling  down  at  the  rate 
of  two  lives  in  three  days,  —  Schiller,  Rousseau,  Car- 
lyle,  etc.,  etc.,  —  eighty  of  them !  We  could  n't  open 
our  mouths  without  a  date  or  a  fact  coming  out  in 
the  life  of  some  great  man.  We  are  getting  over  it 
a  little  now,  and  don't  mention  an  incident  in  the 
life  of  Burns  or  Voltaire  oftener  than  once  in  half 
an  hour.  .  .  . 

SUSAN. 


MATUNUCK,   PARIS,    SPAIN         171 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

MATUNUCE:,  RHODE  ISLAND,  Tuesday ', 

September  14,  1886. 

DEAR  LUC.,  .  .  .  We  settled  down  to  a  nice  little 
trio,  and  I  was  glad  to  have  Papa  taste  the  sweets 
of  the  small  regime;  we  breakfast  and  dine  on  the 
piazza,  which  he  greatly  likes,  and  don't  seriously 
object  to  the  superior  luxuries  of  cooking  which  be- 
come possible.  We  at  once  (all  three  in  fact)  fell 
to  on  "  Lives,"  and  nothing  was  heard  but  the  scratch- 
ing of  pens,  and  some  incident  in  the  life  of  a  great 
man  dropping  from  the  cyclopedia  into  the  mill.  I 
finished  Schiller  and  Voltaire,  and  prepared  the  an- 
ecdotes for  Papa's  "  Victor  Hugo."  Phil,  did  most 
of  his  "  Goethe,"  and  he  himself  (with  dictation  and 
much  reading  aloud  by  me  of  Longfellow)  did  Burns, 
Tennyson,  Longfellow,  Goethe,  Emerson,  and  Hugo, 
in  the  days  between  Thursday  and  Monday  P.M., 
besides  his  leader  for  Lend-a-Hand  and  getting  up 
the  oration  for  cattle  fair ! 

Yours, 

SUSE. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

CHATEAU  LAFITE,  Wednesday, 

January  19, 1887.   - 

DEAR  LUC.,  —  It  is  raining,  just  simply  raining  as 
it  might  any  northeast  day  at  Matunuck,  and  not  too 
cold  for  me  to  sit  up  in  the  fumoir  to  write.  .  .  . 

Vendredi,  le  21,  January,  1887. 

Figurez-vous,  ma  sceur,  la  plaisir  de  me  trouver 

encore  une  fois  sur  le  pont,  apres  deux  jours  d'un 

iemps  affreux  (but  not  dangerous  at  all).     In  other 

words,  the  same  day  I  was  writing,  we  found  our- 


172    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

selves  le  soir  in  le  trou  des  diables,  in  English  "off 
the  Banks,"  for  it  seems  we  were  not  yet  rid  of  New- 
foundland. Such  a  racket  and  toss  there  was  that 
night,  bang,  bang,  bang,  slattery,  rattly,  everything 
on  the  loose,  and  not  a  moment  quiet  till  the  morning ; 
everybody  sick  again,  and  only  "  mon  commandant " 
and  me  at  breakfast.  The  trouble  is,  besides,  that 
with  the  deck  so  wet  and  everything  shut  on  account 
of  great  seas,  it  was  impossible  to  get  any  air.  But 
last  evening  it  was  calm,  and  to-day,  after  a  lovely 
night  of  sleep,  I  mounted  to  find  delicious  sunshine 
for  the  first  time  in  five  days,  and  the  sky  all  fleecy 
with  delicious  clouds.  Philip  and  I  have  been  walk- 
ing about  and  afterwards  basking  on  deck,  and  it  is 
just  as  nice  as  summer,  with  ordinary  wraps.  The 
first  time  I  have  put  on  my  boots  for  many  a  day, 
slippers  sufficing  below. 

I  will  now  give  you  some  account  of  our  passen- 
gers, who  are  really  very  amusing.  (I  feel,  by  the 
way,  that  my  voyage  letter  is  always  a  mere  repeti- 
tion of  the  last  trip  I  made  whatever  it  was,  but  that 
can't  be  helped.)  The  captain  is  very  worthy.  I  sit 
on  his  right ;  he  comes  swooping  along  the  deck  from 
his  passerelle,  to  meals,  like  Neptune,  in  bad  weather, 
all  done  up  in  tarpaulins,  which  he  sheds  in  the 
fumoir.  I  am  generally  there  getting  a  little  air,  and 
perhaps  Philip  is,  also,  whom  the  captain  encourages, 
both  as  to  his  French  and  his  mal  de  mer.  You  must 
know  there  is  a  cat  on  board,  the  sweetest  pussy,  be- 
longing to  the  captain.  He  is  "  verry  "  nice  with  her, 
and  she  sits  up  in  the  empty  chairs  swaying  from 
side  to  side  with  the  motion  of  the  ship,  like  any  old 
salt,  at  all  the  meals. 

Next  the  captain,  a  gauche,  and  opposite  me  is  a 
great  personage  we  call  Maximilian.  He  is  Secretary 
of  State  in  Mexico,  lives  in  Guadalajara,  saw  shot 
I'empereur,  apparently,  speaks  five  languages,  and 


MATUNUCK,   PARIS,    SPAIN         173 

lies  copiously  in  all.  A  very  lively  camarade,  owns 
to  fifty-two  years.  Just  the  kind  of  man  to  exist  on 
a  voyage  or  in  a  novel.  He  talks  English  very  well, 
but  we  use  French  on  account  of  the  captain,  and  the 
yarns  of  these  two  on  every  subject,  from  the  life  of 
the  inhabitants  of  Jupiter  to  the  habits  of  the  por- 
poise, are  well  worth  listening  to.  Next  Maximilian 
sits  the  Dominie,  a  Scotch  Parson  born  in  America, 
with  a  very  slow  voice.  He  tries  to  do  a  little  French 
prepared  beforehand,  every  day,  as,  "  Avez-vous  oys- 
ters en  France  ?  "  to  which  the  obliging  captain  re- 
plies, "  Oh,  yes,  so  much ! "  Next  is  the  Inca,  or 
Argentine,  a  young,  handsome  South  American,  who 
has  just  had  his  fling  in  New  York,  and  is  going 
back  to  B.  Ayres  via  Bordeaux.  He  speaks  a  little 
English,  a  little  French,  mostly  Spanish;  is  very 
intelligent  about  Chili  and  Peru,  often  discussed  at 
table;  but  I  fancy  he  drinks  in  the  evening  by  him- 
self. Perhaps  not.  Next  me  comes  Philip,  but  more 
frequently  goes  —  for  he  bravely  each  time  places 
himself  at  table  to  snatch  the  fearful  joy  of  a  chop, 
and  then  disappears  to  get  rid  of  it.  Next  him  But- 
ler, an  Ohio  boy,  with  great  black  eyes  like  a  faithful 
hound,  and  the  same  sort  of  patient  endurance.  He 
isn't  sick,  but  don't  say  much.  Philip  is  fond  of 
him  and  I  accept  him,  just  as  if  he  had  been  round 
from  the  beginning  of  the  world.  He  has  found  a 
companion  we  call  the  "  Laundry-man,"  who  sits  at 
the  other  table.  For  this  is  the  whole  of  our  table 
now  described;  at  the  other,  are  or  ought  to  be,  la 
dame  et  son  mari,  a  little  squealing  Parisienne,  nou- 
velle  mariee}  who  prefers  to  lie  on  the  sofa  by  our 
table  all  the  time,  and  be  petted  by  Maximilian,  the 
Inca,  and  her  husband,  Edouard,  who  is  a  poor  thing, 
chetif  and  pale ;  they  are  going  to  Barcelone,  and 
have  a  valet  and  femme  de  chambre,  in  the  other  part 
of  the  ship.  These  play  cards  in  the  evening,  and 


174    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

talk  disgusting  French  nonsense  most  of  the  time ; 
we  have  no  great  commerce  with  them.  But  the 
table-talk  is  immensely  amusing  to  follow  and  join. 

Well,  then,  there 's  Sophie,  the  femme  de  chambre, 
just  getting  over  her  sickness,  Alsacienne,  very  loqua- 
cious. She  makes  Philip  talk,  and  thinks  he  will 
soon  learn  French.  Also  Avril,  a  very  worthy  gargon 
with  whiskers,  who  takes  an  intense  interest  in  us; 
and  " M aitre-d' Hotel"  the  head  (and  only)  steward, 
who  is  sad  and  superior,  but  friendly. 

Evenings,  I  read  "She"  in  the  salon  to  Philip  lying 
on  the  sofa  there ;  at  eight  they  bring  a  vile  stuff  they 
call  "tea,"  with  little  biscuits.  Everybody  is  there, 
but  such  a  racket  of  rolling,  there  is  not  much  com- 
merce. Only  Butler  plays  sometimes,  on  the  piano, 
all  sorts  of  things  by  ear,  like  Berty.  But  to-day  all 
changes  with  the  lovely  weather,  and  all  the  world 
is  laughing. 

Et  maintenant  nous  sommes  arrives  au  dimanche, 
23d,  —  going  on  very  well,  with  lovely  weather. 
We  came  out  of  the  trou  des  diables  all  safe,  and  in 
the  balmy  air  of  the  Azores  (three  hundred  miles 
away)  found  a  true  del  de  Mexique  as  "  Maximil- 
ian" says.  I  find  it  a  very  agreeable  voyage.  .  .  . 

I  love  to  engage  Maximilian  in  great  yarns,  when 
he  is  not  playing  cards  with  the  squealing  French 
dame  et  son  mari.  She  has  lately  taken  on  a  new 
access  of  mal  de  mer,  and  don't  appear.  He  is  chock 
full  of  Mexican  tales,  which,  if  I  could  keep  them 
in  my  head,  would  be  great  for  my  book,  if,  more- 
over, I  could  believe  them.  He  told  us  at  length,  in 
English  last  evening,  the  shooting  of  Maximilian 
which  he  saw,  and  how  he  himself  escaped  to  Vera 
Cruz  afterwards  and  went  straight  to  the  Empress 
at  Vienna.  His  propriete  is  all  in  Michoacan  and 
Jalisco,  and  he  has  crossed  from  Guadalajara  to 
Patzcuaro  over  Lake  Chapula,  the  very  way  Churches 


MATUNUCK,   PARIS,   SPAIN         175 

are  dying  to  go,  only  we  didn't  know  how.  He 
swears  the  R.  R.  to  Guadalajara  will  be  done  next 
November,  and  promises  me  letters  to  sa  famille  and 
all  the  notables  of  G.  This  will  water  the  mouths  of 
Churches  and  Janviers!  Altogether  he  reminds  me 
a  good  deal  of  T.  G.  A.  in  his  endless  resource  of 
anecdote,  and  cheerfulness.  .  .  . 

Va  sans  dire  that  he  lies  like  a  Mexican  —  Espa- 
gnol,  Frangais, — but  what  does  that  signify  to  fill 
up  the  time  ?  He  is  in  the  Mexican  Corps  Diploma- 
tique, his  title  is  Secretary,  but  he  is  not  so  high  in 
office  as  he  should  be,  a  cause  de  his  imperialistic 
tendencies.  Spent  last  winter  in  Washington,  and 
is  now  sent  to  London. 

Funny  thing,  as  there  is  no  printed  list  of  pas- 
sengers, nobody  knows  anybody's  name.  Perhaps  you 
do !  If  you  have  seen  any  list  of  our  passengers,  send 
it  to  me!  P.  S.  His  name  is  Pacheco.  Good 
name.  .  .  . 

Mercredi,  26. 

Well,  well,  my  dear,  ce  Golfe  de  Gascoigne  !  Since 
writing  this  last  we  have  been  through  a  frightful 
racket.  It  began  to  roll  soon  after  I  stopped  writ- 
ing above,  and  by  bedtime  things  were  very  wobbly. 
It  seemed  my  bed  was  wet  through  with  drippings 
from  the  deck;  so  they  changed  me  over  to  the  other 
side;  but  the  fence  to  this  new  bed  was  not  high 
enough,  so  that  all  night,  I  slept  but  few  winks,  for 
there  was  a  devil  of  weather,  rolling,  clothing  bang- 
ing, and  waking  every  minute  to  clutch  at  some- 
thing, for  I  was  really  afraid  of  falling  out  into  the 
swamp,  full  of  riparian  reptiles,  which  we  call  my 
carpet.  In  the  morning  I  was  the  only  one  up.  The 
captain  did  n't  come  to  breakfast,  and  Max,  when  he 
arrived,  was  in  a  bad  humour,  on  account  of  the 
rough  night,  and  his  bed  being  wet;  but  this  was 


176    LETTEES  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

nothing  to  the  day  we  passed  later  on,  the  worst  busi- 
ness I  have  ever  had  at  sea.  Phil,  lay  on  one  sofa, 
I  on  the  other,  braced  against  the  table  by  my  legs 
at  right  angles,  to  prevent  falling  off.  Great  seas 
sloshing  over  the  ship  with  a  whang !  bang !  and  from 
time  to  time,  crash!  some  glass  broken,  which  let 
buckets  of  water  down  to  the  entry  pouring  down- 
stairs then  leaping  in  here,  and  wetting  all  the  floor. 
By  three  it  grew  dark,  for  it  was  pouring  and  blow- 
ing. The  servants  hollered  French  to  each  other  and 
sopped  up  here  and  there,  shrieking  for  the  carpenter, 
who  never  came.  We  seemed  sort  of  abandoned  at 
our  end  of  the  ship,  for  the  deck  was  almost  impas- 
sable and  the  captain  and  all,  were  away  off  at  the 
other  end.  Finally  the  cook  made  his  appearance, 
and  a  great  parley  was  held.  Meanwhile  Max,  But- 
ler, and  I  met  in  the  salle  a  manger,  holding  on  to 
posts  and  chatted  a  little.  At  dinner  time  a  brave 
marin  all  in  tarpaulins  brought  the  soup,  and  after- 
wards the  other  dishes;  for  you  understand  the 
kitchen  is  well  forward,  and  all  the  dishes  have  to 
cross  the  whole  length  of  the  ship  with  great  seas 
breaking  over  at  every  moment.  We  had  a  merry 
meal,  holding  glasses  and  plates  not  to  slop.  The 
Laundry-man  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  it  broke 
off  all  the  legs,  precipitating  him  under  the  table. 
He  got  up  with  a  pain  in  his  back,  and  renounced 
the  idea  of  dinner.  The  Argentine  was  in  bed,  so 
was  la  dame.  The  captain  could  not  join  us.  Pussy 
sat  in  his  chair;  she  is  very  lovely,  and  slants  with 
the  motion  of  the  ship  till  she  is  nearly  parallel. 
Every  few  minutes,  slash !  a  great  wave  sweeps  over 
the  ship,  sets  everything  sliding,  pours  down  every 
crack ;  the  lamps  swing  and  smoke,  we  laugh,  or  look 
serious,  and  wonder  what  next !  Such  is  de  Golfe  de 
Gascoigne.  Heureusement,  it  got  more  quiet  before 
bedtime.  I  had  a  new  plank  put  up  in  the  bed,  and 


MATTJNUCK,   PARIS,    SPAIN         177 

Butler  lent  me  his  pillow,  mine  being  wet  through. 
A  delicious  quiet  pervaded  the  ship,  and  we  all  slept 
like  angels,  to  the  calm,  regular  motion  of  a  reason- 
able ocean.  This  morning  the  storm  is  over,  the  sun 
shines,  we  are  all  on  deck,  and  all  the  world  is 
happy.  But  we  are  detained  by  all  this  twenty-four 
hours,  and  shan't  arrive,  apparently,  till  Thursday 
night.  .  .  . 

Yours, 

SlJSE. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

13  RUE  D'ALGER,  PARIS,  Friday, 

February  18,  1887. 

DEAR  LUC.,  —  .  .  .  I  will  go  on  to  narrate 
Wednesday,  which  was  a  rather  interesting  day. 
(They  are  all  interesting  as  they  go  on;  I  am  hav- 
ing a  splendid  time,  but  not  all  worth  writing  about.) 
I  gat  me  forth  after  the  labours  of  my  writing,  about 
twelve,  as  usual,  and  started  for  lunch,  stopping  at 
the  tobacco  shop  to  stamp  my  letters.  The  Church 
St.  Roch  is  just  opposite,  and  people  were  swarming 
in.  "  C'  est  un  enterrement?  "  I  asked  of  the  tobacco- 
lady, —  for  it  generally  is.  "Oh,  no,  marm,  it's 
une  noce."  Une  noce!  so  I  thought  I  would  go  over 
and  see.  I  slipt  in  at  the  side  door  behind  a  cou- 
turiere's  girl  going  home  with  a  bandbox,  and  found 
myself  in  a  somewhat  crowd  inside,  but  could  step 
up  on  a  sort  of  height  where  I  saw  well  the  broad 
aisle.  At  the  door  there  were  two  gold-sticks  in  wait- 
ing, in  old  gold  and  crushed-strawberry  liveries,  and 
two  by  two  the  guests  came  in  and  stood  in  the  aisle 
sideways  until  it  was  all  filled  up  in  rows  on  each 
side,  understand  ?  These  persons  were  pretty  young 
girls  in  light  or  white  street  costumes  with  hats  or 
bonnets,  stout  mamas,  or  praiseworthy  fathers,  the 
latter  in  dress-suits,  white  cravats,  and  white  kid 


178    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

gloves.  An  old  gentleman  next  me,  who  engaged  me 
in  conversation,  told  me  these  were  the  "parents  et 
les  invites"  because  they  came  in  carriages,  the  other 
people  filling  up  what  would  be  pews,  only  there  are 
none,  were  des  curieux,  like  ourselves.  This  person 
by  the  way,  feigned  amazement  that  I  was  etrangere, 
"  Mais  vous  habitez  Paris,  Madame  !  "  We  could  n't 
talk  much  for  the  gold-sticks  came  down  with  a  great 
pung !  "  Ce  sont  les  mariees"  my  man  whispered ; 
the  band,  I  mean  organ,  set  up  Da!  Da!  dy  dar-dy 
da-dy  (i.e.,  Mendelssohn's  wedding  march),  and  the 
party  pranced  up  the  aisle  much  as  with  us,  and  van- 
ished among  the  candles  far  away  upon  the  altar, 
the  bride  with  veil,  on  the  arm  of  her  parent  or 
guardian,  the  mother  I  guess  with  her  gendre  to  be, 
and  then  all  "  les  invites,"  who  had  been  in  rows,  fell 
in  behind  and  made  a  procession  which  ate  up  its 
own  tail  so  to  speak,  those  being  first  which  were 
last,  according  to  Scripture.  I  went  away  then,  for 
no  use  trying  to  get  near  the  ceremony.  All  this 
made  me  late  to  lunch,  and  the  friendly  Duval  man 
and  maids  said,  "Monsieur  est  parti,  Madame" 
"  Dejd!"  I  ejaculated,  and  ate  alone.  I  then  went 
up  Opera  Street  and  across  the  town  to  our  dreary 
bankers  to  haul  out  some  money.  The  usual  moss 
on  the  doorstep,  signs  of  decay  and  decrepitude ;  dust 
in  heaps  on  the  book  of  arrivals,  and  our  names  the 
last  inscribed.  The  clerk  waked  from  the  nap  he 
dropped  into  ten  days  ago  when  we  left  him,  and 
handed  me  a  letter  which  arrived  just  after  that 
event.  Managed  to  find  some  aged  billets  de  banque 
for  me,  scraped  the  mould  from  the  ink  bottle  and 
furnished  me  with  the  first  steel  pen  ever  coined. 
Forgive  this  waste  of  paper  on  this  faded  pleasantry ; 
but  such  is  Perier  Freres. 

Being  in  that  region  I  accomplished  a  visit  on  our 
excellent  compagnons  de  voyage  from  Bordeaux,  I 


MATUNUCK,   PARIS,    SPAIN         1T9 

must  have  written  about  them,  they  were  so  cordial 
in  the  train,  and  I  had  promised  to  visit  them.  They 
are  milliners,  and  have  an  immense  great  maison  de 
modes,  "  MADAME  VALERIE  LEOPOLD,"  in  a  great  sign 
all  across  the  building.  I  found  her  sitting  among 
customers  and  bonnets  on  sticks  just  like  any  grand 
milliner  chez  nous.  The  madame  she  was  waiting 
on  was  telling  her  about  her  son's  marriage  which 
she  had  just  got  nicely  fixed,  with  a  suitable  dot  and 
unexceptionable  daughter  (joke!).  She  sighed  as 
she  spoke  and  Madame  Valerie  heaved  a  fat  sigh  and 
said, 

"  Le  mariage!  cest  la  destinee!" 

"  Oui,  Madame!  c'est  la  destinee!  Bonjow, 
Madame" 

"  Bon  jour,  Madame." 

Meanwhile  I  had  been  persuading  the  head  wait- 
ing-woman to  do  over  my  small  green  bonnet  then 
on  my  head  ( and  they  have  sent  for  it,  and  it  has  n't 
come  back  yet),  and  then  Madame  Valerie,  being  at 
leisure,  sent  for  her  mari  and  we  had  great  epanche- 
ments.  I  consulted  them  on  many  things;  in  fact, 
they  are  useful  friends,  Parisian  to  the  end  of  their 
finger-nails,  with  no  object  in  cheating  me.  They 
told  me  of  an  apartment,  big  studio,  bedroom  and 
kitchen,  for  five  hundred  francs,  one  hundred  dollars 
a  year !  and  if  I  were  to  live  here  with  Phil.,  we  could 
establish  a  nice  little  menage.  Not  furnished,  you 
know,  but  as  Madame  remarked,  mon  dieu,  the  trifle 
to  throw  in  a  bed  and  quelques  meubles.  But  don't 
be  alarmed  I  shall  be  home  by  May  1.  These  folks 
live  over  in  Chateaudon,  so  not  far  from  rue  Ber- 
gere,  where  I  sort  of  think  the  Marcous  were;  a  very 
good  neighbourhood. 

I  then  filled  up  half  an  hour  with  the  enchanting 
water-colour  exhibition,  second  time  seeing,  and  at 
quarter  of  four  took  cab  for  Mrs.  Greene  who  expects 


180    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

us  every  Wednesday  —  but  Phil,  was  busy.  There 
this  time  were  Dr.  Sturgis  Hooper  and  Mary  Ed- 
mund Quincy  again.  She  is  really  very  bright  and 
nice.  I  say  young  —  call  it  forty.  After  Dr.  Hooper 
left  we  had  a  great  talk  a  trois,  —  just  what  Mrs. 
Greene  likes,  gossip,  politics,  Jews,  Buddhism,  Bos- 
ton, really  very  good  fun,  —  interrupted  by  a  young 
Shaw  nephew  and  his  pretty  wife,  and  I  fled,  for  it 
was  late,  and  when  I  got  home  having  hurtled  down 
the  Faubourg  St.  Honore  on  foot  at  a  rattling  pace, 
Phil,  had  lighted  the  lamps,  poked  the  fire,  and  begun 
to  wonder  if  I  had  abandoned  him.  You  know  Mrs. 
Greene  receives  in  bed,  all  done  up  in  white  lace  with 
white  kid  gloves  on,  the  bed  strewn  with  the  latest 
literature,  newspapers,  etc.,  a  little  table  with  tea 
close  to  her  side.  (But  all  the  rest  of  the  week  she 
is  up  and  about,  rattling  round  to  receptions,  climb- 
ing up-stairs,  as  brisk  as  you  please  —  just  my  favour- 
ite scheme  of  being  beclridden.)  .  .  . 

Always  yours, 

SUSIE. 


To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

13  RUE  D'ALGER,  PARIS,  March  20,  1887. 

DEAR  LUC.,  —  Strange  things  have  occurred  which 
I  must  reveal  before  coming  to  the  great  fat  budget 
of  letters  we  received  yesterday,  yours  of  March  6 
and  others  same  date,  some  of  Phil.'s  even  Monday  7, 
which  is  really  quick,  being  within  the  two  weeks. 

Well,  I  am  going  to  Spain !  I  can't  hardly  believe 
it  myself,  it  seems  so  singular.  It  won't  make  much 
difference  to  you  people  at  home,  as  I  shall  not  be, 
I  hope,  much  later  in  getting  back,  certainly  before 
June  1  and  I  leave  here,  —  Paris,  —  just  the  same 
time  I  had  meant  to.  Perhaps  you  will  have  heard 
of  this  in  America  and  know  more  about  it  than  I 


MATUNUCK,   PARES,    SPAIN         181 

do.  You  must  know  that  Wednesday  evening  when  I 
came  home  from  dining  chez  Mrs.  Greene,  I  found  a 
telegram  from  N".  Y.  sent  through  old  Periers.  You 
can  guess  if  I  was  scared,  as  we  were  then  (and  are 
still)  worried  about  the  accident  on  the  Prov.  R.  R. 
It  was  from  Mr.  Church  and  said :  —  "  Will  you  take 
a  trip  to  Spain  with  Fanny  and  John  Johnston 
April  10  ?  Expenses  paid."  I  was  considerably 
knocked  at  this  and  went  to  bed.  Philip  was  out,  and 
I  couldn't  consult  him  till  next  morning,  when  he 
visited  me  as  usual  after  I  had  waked  him  at  six- 
thirty.  ...  I  concluded  to  answer  thus  (by  cable)  : 
"  Delighted,  if  short.  Must  be  home  before  June." 

We  then  had  an  interval  of  great  anguish,  hoping 
the  Johnstons  would  fall  out  of  window  and  break 
their  necks,  so  I  need  n't  do  anything  about  it  —  but, 
lo !  yesterday  p.  M.  came  the  fatal  flimsy,  blue  paper, 
saying  thus:  "  Delighted.  Sail  26th  for  Havre ;  hope 
to  start  quickly  for  Seville.  Johnston."  .  .  . 

You  see  it  is  a  chance  to  go  through  my  beloved 
Spain  again,  and  my  idea  is  to  come  home  in  one 
of  those  fruit-steamers  from  Gibraltar,  so  it  will  be 
all  on  my  way.  If  we  get  off  from  here  the  tenth, 
I  may  sail  for  home  by  May  1 !  I  suppose  they  are 
let  to  ask  me,  because  I  can  do  a  little  Spanish.  On 
the  whole,  I  think  it  is  a  lovely  plan  of  the  Churches 
and  Johnstons ;  still  you  will  pardon  this  goose-flesh, 
caused  by  being  so  in  the  dark.  Doubtless  they  are 
all  writing  me  letters  to-day,  which  I  shall  get  in 
time  to  know  what  we  are  to  do;  meanwhile,  I  don't 
see  my  way  clear  about  a  few  things,  but  they  will 
come  out  right,  I  suppose.  Of  course,  the  point  is 
expenses  paid,  otherwise  I  should  not  think  of 
it.  . 


182    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

GIBRALTAR,  Saturday,  April  %3,  1887. 

DEAR  LUC.,  —  Here  we  are,  you  see,  under  the  pro- 
tection of  the  Henglish  Lion,  which  is  a  strange  sen- 
sation right  in  the  thick  of  Spanish  emotions.  But 
I  must  not  describe  his  roar  to  you  yet  (though  you 
can  imagine  me  with  my  very  best  English  accent 
on),  for  I  am  much  behindhand  in  narrative.  In 
fact  these  young  companions  are  such  active  travel- 
lers that  we  have  but  little  time  to  write.  .  .  . 

Sunday  P.  M.  we  had  a  lovely  drive  to  Italica, 
which  I  am  delighted  not  to  have  missed.  It  is  an 
old  Eoman  amphitheatre,  which  I  have  described 
without  seeing  in  all  my  works  on  Spain.  The  sweet- 
est old  overgrown  place,  with  galleries  and  ranks  of 
seats  still  left,  and  traces  of  its  old  purpose,  —  but 
poppies  and  all  bright  flowers  growing  in  the  crevices 
of  the  old  crumbly  stones,  and  thick  turf  everywhere. 
We  came  home  through  the  fair  grounds  where  every- 
thing was  in  a  merry  state  of  preparation ;  and 

Monday  morning,  we  were  there  betimes.  It  is 
just  like  a  great  cattle  show,  exactly,  only  Spanish, 
with  gipsies  and  peasants;  but,  alas!  they  have  all 
given  up  their  costumes,  no  majos,  nor  short  petti- 
coats nor  even  pannelas.  However,  we  had  lots  of 
fun  looking  at  the  things,  booths  with  toys,  etc.  .  .  . 

But,  then,  my  dear,  —  then,  —  we  went  to  the 
bull-fight  Monday  afternoon ! !  Yes,  Me,  at  the  bull- 
fight. It  was  perfectly  horrible,  sickening,  disgust- 
ing. I  went  because  Miss  J.  was  determined  to  go, 
and  you  know  we  are  interested  in  Mazantini,  the 
great  toreador.  On  the  whole  it  is  just  as  well,  be- 
cause now  I  can  use  all  my  powers  of  speech  to  ex- 
hort others  not  to  go.  That 's  all  I  will  say  now.  .  .  . 
Eafe  Curtis  was  on  the  seat  in  front  of  us  in  the 
same  box  (son  of  Daniel,  now  an  artist,  used  to  be 


MATUNUCK,   PARIS,   SPAIN         183 

little  boy  at  my  Chestnut  Hill  school).  In  the  eve- 
ning we  went  again  to  the  fair  grounds,  and  saw  fire- 
works, and  then  the  thing  to  do  is  to  walk  from  booth 
to  booth  and  look  in.  This  is  very  amusing.  These 
are  built  close  to  each  other  along  each  street  so  to 
speak  (but  slightly  put  up,  as  if  on  the  Common), 
and  families  hire  them  for  the  whole  fair.  Open  to 
the  street,  the  three  other  sides  are  furnished  with 
looking-glass,  sofas,  etc.,  more  or  less,  according  to 
taste,  and  here  they  sit,  worthy  people,  inviting  their 
friends  (or  eke  us)  to  come  in.  The  fat  mama  in 
a  rock-chair,  in  mantilla  and  fan,  and  nice  daughters 
sitting  round  with  guitars,  and  Peabody  boys  on 
hand.  These  propose  something,  and  from  time  to 
time,  you  and  Billy  Bobby  Ware  (for  example)  get 
up  with  castanets  and  dance  the  gavotte,  while  people 
of  all  sorts  crowd  round  the  open  entrance,  but  the 
performers  seem  quite  unconscious  of  these  outsiders, 
and  when  the  dance  is  over  they  sit  down  and  chat 
till  the  spirit  moves  again.  We  hurried  from  one  to 
another  to  see  as  many  as  possible.  There  were  hun- 
dreds of  these  booths ! !  Sometimes  Mary  Hall  would 
obligingly  sit  at  the  piano,  while  Almira  opened  her 
mouth  and  sang  a  kind  of  Andalusion  caterwaul;  at 
others,  it  was  as  if  I  should  do  the  Lapland  cottagers' 
song.  Of  course  I  use  these  names  from  lack  of 
knowing  those  of  the  Seville  family  ones.  It  was 
very  worthy  —  only  they  now  wear,  you  know,  just 
light-grey  or  any  woollen  dresses  cut  like  ours,  with 
waists,  overskirts,  etc.,  nothing  like  costume,  except 
occasionally  the  little  children,  and  here  and  there 
some  pretty  girls  who  had  "  dressed  up  "  a  la  Sevil- 
lana,  as  we  might  at  Thanksgiving  —  you  know  it 
was  not  at  all  for  pay,  but  for  their  own  pleasure  — 
only  hospitality  demanded  that  the  crowd  should  be 
allowed  to  look  on,  —  there  was  no  franc  or  peseta 
business  about  it  whatever. 


184    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

By  this  time  we  had  had  quite  enough  of  the  fair, 
and  Tuesday  we  were  off  for  Cadiz,  after  such  a  wal- 
lowing with  Miss  Butcher.  She  came  to  us,  sur- 
rounded us,  swallowed  us  up;  but  was  so  kind  and 
useful  that  we  loved  her.  You  will  find  it  hard  to 
picture  Mary  Curzon  in  a  mantilla  and  prayer-book 
taking  Miss  Johnston  to  see  a  Spanish  Baron  who 
sells  Moorish  tiles;  but  you  must,  for  it 's  exact.  She 
wanted  books  to  read,  and  Miss  Johnston  lent  her 
our  Story  of  Spain!  which  she  and  her  sister  sat 
up  late  to  devour,  so  much  they  were  pleased  with 
it  ...  Good-bye,  in  haste. 

Yours, 
SUSAN. 

To  Miss  LUCEETIA  P.  HALE 

"  ALHAMBRA  " !  GRANADA,  SIETE  SUELOS, 
April  30,  1887. 

DEAR  LUC., —  ...  So  I  will  compose  myself  to 
narration.  We  are  very  happy  to  be  settled  to-day 
in  this  lovely  place  without  having  to  start  off  for 
anywhere.  Arrived  late  last  night,  and  tumbled  into 
bed  tired  as  dogs  as  you  will  see.  This  morning  the 
joy  of  getting  at  our  trunks,  changing  clothes,  etc., 
is  so  great  that  we  have  no  thought  as  yet  of  sight- 
seeing. In  fact,  it  is  simply  enchanting  to  be  here, 
in  a  lovely  salon  with  great  windows  opened  wide  on 
little  balconies,  shaded  by  leafy  elms,  birds  singing, 
otherwise  no  sound  but  the  rushing  water,  and  an 
occasional  dear  donkey  setting  up  his  bray.  The 
place  has  all  the  charm  I  hoped  it  would,  coming 
back,  and  no  disappointment.  .  .  . 

We  only  spent  one  night  at  Gibraltar,  Tuesday, 
in  solemn  preparation  for  the  Honda  Ride.  This  I 
want  to  describe  to  you  with  great  detail,  so  I  will 
pass  over  a  lively  talk  at  the  "  Eoyal "  with  a  jolly 


MATUNUCK,   PAKIS,    SPAIN         185 

old  gentleman,  who  turned  out  later  to  be  Sir  John 
Hanbury,  an  eminent  physician,  sent  out  to  Gibraltar 
for  two  months.  He  had  just  arrived  in  a  P.  and  O. 
steamer,  and  when  the  other  passengers  saw  that  we 
knew  "  Sir  John,"  they  bowed  before  us  in  awe;  when 
I  turned  to  one  of  them  and  said,  "Who  was  that 
pleasant  old  gentleman  who  just  went  out  ? "  they 
gasped  in  amazement. 

At  five  o'clock  on  Wednesday  we  were  called,  and 
after  the  usual  delays,  we  actually  stalked  out  over 
the  clattering  streets  of  Gibraltar  on  horses!  Mine 
was  a  very  tall  one.  The  procession  was  this:  1st. 
The  guide,  called  by  us  "Polonius"  on  account  of 
his  characteristics.  2nd.  Miss  J.  on  a  lively  white 
horse.  3rd.  John  J.  on  a  brown  horse.  4.  Me,  on  a 
great  long-legged  beast  we  named  "  Major  Dobbin." 

5.  Two  trunks  on  a  mule  surmounted  by  a  man. 

6.  Another  mule  with  all  the  rest  of  the  baggage, 
rugs,  straps,  etc.,  and  our  lunch.     Fancy  if  it  re- 
minded me  of  our  journey  in  Syria.     I  was  fain  to 
compare  myself  with  you,  for,  on  calculating,  I  find 
I  am  now  four  years  older  than  you  were  then,  and 
far  more  decrepit ;  still  I  held  out  well,  and  the  com- 
panions were  very  considerate  of  my  infirmities.    We 
sallied  out  of  Gibraltar  towards  Spain,  over  a  nar- 
row strip  of  land  called  "  the  neutral  ground."    There 
is  sort  of  a  bridge  there,  and  a  toll-house;  and  here 
my  horse,  who  was  walking  very  slow,  thought  he 
would  go  back  to  Gibraltar.     The  others  all  went 
ahead  without  noticing;  I  had  no  whip,  and  wasn't 
sure  about  pulling  the  bridle,  as  it  was  a  curb-bit. 
There  was  a  great  snarl  of  people,  donkeys,  carts, 
etc.,  and  there  we  stuck  with  his  head  towards  Gib. 
"  Don't  be  afraid ! "  called  the  toll-man  in  English. 
I  saw  Polonius  galloping  back,  and  soon  he  arrived, 
seized,  with  great  scorn  (of  my  powers),  the  rope 
round  my  horse's  neck,  and  led  us  out  of  town.    This 


186    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

was  rather  a  bad  beginning,  and  ignominious,  as 
Miss  J.  is  an  experienced  rider,  but  my  terror  was 
so  great  that  I  did  n't  mind  anything  —  it  is  so  long 
since  I  have  been  in  practice,  and  this  horse  was  so 
very  tall,  it  seemed  a  great  distance  to  the  ground. 
I  will  hasten  to  say  that  Dobbin  soon  came  to  behave 
very  well,  and  I  grew  very  happy  with  him.  He  no 
longer  had  to  be  led,  and,  in  fact,  proved  the  best 
horse  of  the  lot  on  the  second  day,  when  Miss  J.'s 
lively  animal  began  to  flag.  She,  by  the  way,  brought 
all  this  distance  a  regular  riding-habit,  trousers,  and 
all,  of  light  grey,  while  I  climbed  up  my  horse  in 
my  usual  dark-green  travelling  dress.  But,  after  all, 
I  was  just  as  comfortable  as  she  was,  and  less  bother 
on  touching  terra  firma  to  be  in  a  Christian  gown. 
We  soon  began  on  that  elation  of  spirits  which  comes 
from  being  up  early,  outdoors  and  on  horses.  The 
day  was  lovely.  Gibraltar  rose  behind  us,  and  we 
galloped  along  a  beach  of  the  Mediterranean  Sea 
with  little  waves  breaking  over  the  horses'  feet.  (I 
didn't  much  like  this  galloping  business  and  was 
thankful  that  ever  afterwards  there  was  no  good 
enough  road  for  it,  and  we  went  on  a  walk.)  Soon 
we  began  to  go  up  and  up  through  fields  delicious 
with  flowers,  still  views  of  the  sea,  but  mountains 
coming  on  in  front,  over  a  narrow  bridle-path.  We 
rode  perhaps  four  hours,  and  then  stopped  at  a  little 
house  to  repose,  —  not  even  a  posada,  but  just  friends 
of  Polonius,  as  it  were.  When  I  came  down  off  my 
horse  I  was  stiffer  than  a  log,  and  so,  indeed,  were 
the  companions.  They  invited  us  to  a  pretty  room, 
where  they  set  out  knives,  forks,  etc.,  and  by  and  by 
when  the  mules  arrived,  Polonius  brought  out  from 
saddle-bags  the  lunch  we  had  brought.  Meanwhile 
we  were  resting,  wandering  about  a  sweet  garden, 
gathering  nasturtiums,  which  grow  wild  all  through 
here  with  a  delicate  sort  of  Dutchman's  pipe,  more 


MATUNUCK,   PAKIS,   SPAIN         187 

twining  than  that  of  39  Highland  Street.  There  was 
a  very  nice  Spanish  cat  at  that  place,  a  perro,  a  couple 
of  pigs,  and  hens,  who  all  formed  part  of  the  family, 
all  worthy  people.  Again  to  horse,  and  jogging  along, 
the  scene  growing  wilder.  Our  second  rest  was  in 
a  lovely  place,  we  called  the  oasis,  tall  trees  planted 
near  a  delicious  spring,  and  a  family  living  in  a  sort 
of  thatched  hut  with  a  donkey.  After  that  we  began 
to  follow  the  bed  of  a  river,  constantly  fording  it! 
The  first  time  we  feared  greatly,  for  the  strong  cur- 
rent wet  the  stomachs  of  the  horses,  even  my  tall 
Dobbin,  but  we  soon  got  used  to  it  and  loved  it.  This 
river  was  very  full  on  account  of  recent  rains,  a 
brawling  kind  of  torrent,  sometimes  flattened  over 
broad  sand  places,  sunny,  not  too  hot,  and  fresh 
spring  greens  everywhere.  The  oleander,  which  was 
so  pink  three  years  ago,  is  only  in  bud,  but  other 
shrubs  are  out,  and  all  manner  of  low-on-the-ground 
flowers.  Polonius,  who  is  a  stupid  old  person,  ex- 
pounded things  in  Spanish ;  —  he  was  a  very  faithful 
guide,  and  knew  all  the  right  stopping  places,  etc., 
through  constant  doing  the  same  route.  We  reached 
the  foot  of  the  mountains  about  5  P.  M.  After  a  last 
rest,  we  began  to  climb,  climb  a  very  steep  path, 
meeting  people  that  seemed  like  forty  thieves  coming 
down  with  mules,  scenery  very  wild,  but  not  terrific. 
At  last  awfully  tired,  after  sunset  we  reached  Gaucin 
at  the  very  top  of  everything,  a  beetling  Moorish  town 
stuck  up  there  for  safety,  years  ago,  with  a  Moorish 
castle  amongst  it,  the  tiled  roofs  so  brown  and  old 
you  could  hardly  tell  where  houses  ended  and  cliffs 
began.  We  clattered  through  the  narrow  street,  all 
Gaucin  at  our  heels,  and  were  lifted  off  our  horses 
to  fall  upon  beds.  It  was  a  sweet  hotel.  The  host 
very  worthy.  A  real  fonda  with  up-stairs  and  down- 
stairs, and  a  funny  room  for  us  women,  with  two 
beds,  we  think  belonging  to  the  hosts  themselves.  In 


188    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

the  morning  I  was  looking  off  a  lovely  little  balcony 
away  down  into  the  ravine,  when  a  neighbour  made 
signs  from  his  garden,  would  I  like  some  lilacs.  I 
nodded,  and  saw  him  order  a  senora  to  pick  them,  and 
then  a  muchacha  brought  them  round,  out  of  his 
garden  door  and  through  a  back  street  to  our  front 
door.  A  great  delicious  bunch  for  each  of  us,  a  white 
rose  apiece,  and  a  sprig  of  mint.  All  Gaucin  as  be- 
fore was  at  the  door  to  see  us  mount.  The  animals 
came  up  from  the  cellar,  where  they  had  spent  the 
night,  the  packs  were  put  on  them,  and  after  the 
usual  dawdling  we  were  off  for  our  second  day  on 
horse,  after  an  excellent  breakfast  the  host  made  him- 
self in  the  kitchen  right  off  the  dining-room,  so  we 
heard  him  beating  the  eggs.  I  was  pleased  that  the 
hotel  was  so  good,  for  at  first  it  seemed  I  should  have 
to  live  there  always,  I  was  so  stiff  that  first  night; 
but  'tis  wonderful  how  a  good  sleep  brought  me  round. 
Thursday  we  were  winding  round  a  maze  of  moun- 
tains sometimes  up,  sometimes  down,  but  always 
high,  —  now  looking  back  towards  Gaucin,  now  turn- 
ing towards  Eonda.  Our  lunch  place  was  a  posada 
where  the  horses  had  the  first  place,  ourselves  next. 
It  was  a  paved  stable,  some  men  were  playing  domi- 
noes at  a  round  table,  and  we  had  a  table  given  us  to 
eat  our  food  on.  All  the  town  at  the  door,  which 
gave  all  the  light,  as  there  were  no  windows.  That 
day  we  saw  few  trees,  and  on  the  whole,  the  scenery 
was  not  intensely  interesting,  not  great  crags,  but  a 
great  deal  of  somewhat  monotonous  up  and  down. 
Still,  it  was  all  beautiful,  flowers,  flowers  everywhere, 
hawthorn,  wild  roses,  no  trees  anywhere  —  at  last  we 
began  to  see  Honda  afar  off  over  a  plain  at  the  foot 
of  our  hills.  It  took  long  to  reach.  Certainly  a  won- 
derful place,  and  well  worth  the  trip,  even  apart 
from  the  fun  of  horses.  It  is  very  old  to  begin  with, 
Roman,  then  Moor,  always  with  the  reputation  of 


MATUNUCK,   PAEIS,    SPAIN         189 

cantankerousness,  on  account  of  its  fast  position  on 
top  a  steep  precipice  of  hundreds  of  feet.  This  again 
is  so  mixed  between  old  masonry  and  the  rock  that 
you  can't  tell  which  is  which.  They  built  the  wall 
of  the  town  into  the  jags  of  the  precipice.  The  river 
brawls  at  the  foot,  turning  Moorish  mills,  and  rushing 
off  to  water  all  the  fertile  fields  in  the  neighbourhood. 

At  last  we  reached  it.  It  is  a  great  handsome, 
proud  city,  the  new  part  with  broad  streets,  alamedas, 
churches,  with  all  the  honest  dignity  of  a  centre  not 
degraded  by  railroads  —  or  even,  you  know,  car- 
riages !  In  the  middle  of  the  town  is  a  grand  bridge 
built  over  the  tajo  or  chasm.  This  bridge  is  the 
market-place  and  nucleus  of  the  town.  We  saw  the 
splendid  view  from  our  horses,  but  next  morning 
went  to  search  it  thoroughly  on  foot.  You  look  down, 
down  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  to  the  boiling  river, 
the  sides  are  absolutely  perpendicular  rock  worn  with 
age,  moss-grown,  ferns  and  cactus  growing,  at  the 
top,  the  houses  built  close  to  the  cliff,  —  up  the  river 
is  seen  the  old  Roman  bridge,  —  down,  you  see,  far 
below,  the  Moorish  mills,  —  and  little  people,  don- 
keys and  things,  hurrying  about,  the  merest  toys,  they 
are  so  far  off.  It  is  perfectly  wonderful  —  I  never 
saw  anything  like  it,  and  for  once  am  satisfied  as  to 
a  gorge  or  chasm.  They  are  usually  so  slanting,  but 
this  is  really  perpendicular.  From  the  plateau  the 
town  is  on,  you  look  off  of  this  jumping-off  place,  over 
the  fertile  plain  to  snowy  mountains. 

The  hotel  is  dignified  and  spacious.  We  had  a 
great  room  on  the  lower  floor  with  a  salon  opening 
from  it,  and  a  grated  window  looking  into  the  street 
with  chairs  in  it  on  a  raised  dais.  We  only  spent  the 
night  there,  got  up  early  to  go  and  look  at  the  tajo 
and  town,  and  at  nine,  bidding  farewell  to  Polonius 
and  our  horses,  mounted  the  top  of  a  diligence  for 
Gobantes.  We  love  diligence,  and  try  to  do  all  we 


190    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

can  thus.  There  is  a  splendid  road  all  the  way,  in- 
deed it  is  the  bed  of  a  railway  to  connect  the  Granada 
region  through  Honda  with  Algeciras  and  so  Cadiz. 
We  are  glad  we  did  it  before  it  lost  its  flavour.  But, 
alas !  tell  Nelly,  how  can  she  bear  it,  even  at  Ronda, 
the  costumes  are  all  gone.  Long  trousers  everywhere, 
for  men,  with  Yankee  felt  hats;  plain  waists  and 
skirts  for  the  women,  or  little  plaid  (  !  )  shawls. 
Pannelas  are  still  worn  but  tied  under  the  chin !  Is 
it  not  sad  ?  We  reached  the  R.  R.  at  Gobantes  at 
two-thirty,  and  resumed  the  commonplace  routine  of 
tickets,  weighing  trunks,  tooting  whistles,  and  smoke. 
Reached  Granada  just  as  before,  in  the  dark,  and 
drove  up  the  lovely  avenue,  a  small  moon  glimpsing 
through  the  tall  trees. 

It  is  just  as  lovely  here  as  ever,  and  the  J.'s  are 
charmed.  We  were  full  willing  to  rest,  as  you  now 
can  understand,  and  even  to-day  are  doing  but  little. 
In  fact  the  charm  of  the  Alhambra  is  to  loiter  round 
the  lovely  place.  We  spent  the  p.  M.  there  yesterday. 
J.  J.  is  too  La  Farge  to  be  able  to  bear  the  renova- 
tions by  Contreras.  In  vain  I  suggest  that  the  whole 
thing  would  have  tumbled  down  if  he  had  n't. 

Our  rooms  are  enchanting,  and  to  me  everything 
is  still  more  beautiful  than  the  first  time,  except  we 
Hales  were  so  wise  or  so  lucky  in  being  late  in  all 
these  places.  No  fresas,  reluctant  nightingales  (but 
some),  and  the  blossoms  not  so  intensely  profuse  up 
here  —  but  still  enough  for  those  who  do  not  know 
better.  On  the  other  hand  there  is  more  snow  on  the 
Sierra  Nevada  —  and  that  little  garden  in  the  Al- 
cazaba,  Nelly,  is  more  lovely  than  before,  with  a  bed 
of  double  anemones  instead  of  those  geraniums  I 
painted  in  my  foreground. 

That 's  the  whole  of  our  career  up  to  this  time, 
which  is  Sunday  morning.  I  am  glad  to  have  a  little 
room  to  revert  to  Tangier,  which  was  very  pretty  and 


MATTJNUCK,   PAEIS,    SPAIN         191 

very  amusing,  not  half  so  Eastern  as  the  East,  but 
enough  so,  and  —  from  the  fact  of  being  a  little  got 
up  in  a  stagey  way  for  the  benefit  of  Europeans, 
more  Eastern  than  the  East.  For  instance,  the  mer- 
chants in  the  fireplaces  were  richly  dressed  in  their 
own  best  Tiaiks,  as  a  kind  of  reclame  of  the  establish- 
ment. The  "  Hassans  "  round  the  hotel  overdid  their 
sashes,  etc.,  etc.  We  had  a  very  amusing  donkey- 
ride  out  into  the  flowery  suburbs,  sitting  sideways  on 
saddle-bags.  At  the  hotel  in  Tangiers  is  a  very  pleas- 
ant Scotchwoman,  Mrs.  Lockhart.  .  .  .  And  there 
we  met  for  the  second  or  third  time  some  charming 
English  people,  man  and  his  wife,  who  are  just 
turned  up  here  again,  and  becoming  our  fast  friends. 
,We  only  lately  found  out  their  names,  —  they  are 
the  Lieut.  Henns  who  were  over  in  the  Galatea  for 
the  yacht  races!  This  accounts  for  their  niceness 
to  Americans. 

Well,  well,  we  are  just  laying  out  the  last  days  of 
our  route.  I  leave  Madrid  on  Monday,  May  9,  for 
Paris,  and  sail  on  the  fourteenth,  less  than  a  fort- 
night from  to-day!  I  long  to  see  you,  and  shall  not 
stop  in  New  York  any  longer  than  necessary.  .  .  . 

Yours, 

SUSIE. 
To  MRS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 


,  RHODE  ISLAND,  July  %%,  1887, 
(Alas!  how  fast  it  goes!} 

.  .  .  What  bosh  "A  Week  away  from  Time"  is! 
I  should  think  Time,  or  anybody  else,  would  keep 
away  from  such  a  boring  set  of  people.  Poor  old 
Tennyson  dragged  in  and  Sir  John  Franklin.  Save 
you  read  "  Love's  Martyr  "  by  Miss  Alma-Tadema  ? 
My  young  folks  have  been  reading  it  with  divers 
opinions. 

We  are  in  full  blast  here.     Papa  turns  out  reams 


192    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

of  manuscript  daily.  Jack  is  raising  worms  under 
glass,  after  Darwin.  Robert  paddles  the  canoe,  with 
Greta  Marquand  in  it,  a  young  woman  of  sixteen 
I  have  thrown  down  to  this  cloud  of  youths,  by  which 
I  am  surrounded.  There  is  Billy  and  John  and 
George  and  Fred  and  Arthur  and  Herbert  to  come. 
But  no  matter,  while  there  is  gosling  in  the  larder 
and  broilers  roving  the  hill.  I  have  some  nice  ser- 
vants, as  I  may  have  mentioned,  and  things  go  smooth. 
Jane  is  stupendous.  She  has  got  on  to  the  right  side 
of  the  baking  powder,  and  her  cakes  and  things  are 
so  light  they  fly  down  your  throat  of  themselves.  We 
keep  up  the  form  of  making  the  bread,  Robert  and 
I,  but  it 's  only  a  ceremony,  for  Jane  is  really  at  the 
bottom  of  the  pan. 

However,  don't  expect  to  see  me  at  Newport,  for 
the  whole  thing  turns  upon  my  vigilant  eye.  Drop 
a  line  though,  now,  do ! 

YOUK  FAITHFUL  SUSIE. 


To  Miss  LTTCBETIA  P. 

MATUNUCK,  September  12,  1887. 
Monday  morning. 

DEAR  LTJC.,  —  Sunday  swept  by  without  a  minute 
for  writing,  and  eke  the  early  mail  this  morning; 
so  now  this  will  not  get  off  till  to-morrow,  but  I  will 
make  sure  of  it  now.  My  house-maid's  work  makes 
me  more  busy  than  ever,  especially  in  the  first  morn, 
so  I  am  terribly  behind  on  letters.  .  .  . 

I  will  now  describe  yesterday  that  you  may  learn 
that  silence  has  not  yet  settled  over  Matunuck.  Mr. 
McElroy  arrived  Saturday,  so  he  was  in  bed  for  me 
to  carry  water  to  in  the  morning,  then  the  whole 
house  to  open  and  arrange,  and  breakfast  table  to  set 
for  five.  (Joe  has  ceased  to  come  except  sporadically 
to  fetch  ice.) 


MATUNUCK,   PAKIS,   SPAIN         193 

Jane  fears  to  be  seen,  you  know,  so  that  every  time 
anything  is  missing  on  the  table  I  have  to  get  up  for 
it.  We  are  in  the  red  room,  indeed  living  there,  for 
it  is  very  windy  outside. 

I  washed  the  breakfast  things  while  Jane  made  the 
beds,  and  this  with  some  attention  to  dinner,  towels, 
blankets,  etc.,  took  every  minute  till  time  to  dress 
for  church  and  read  over  the  Sybarite,3-  which  was 
valiantly  prepared  by  our  three  Hales,  with  a  brief 
furnished  by  Mr.  McElroy,  who  is  very  pleasant,  by 
the  way,  and  full  of  raconiing  his  tales,  all  good  and 
some  new.  Papa  was  very  good  in  tending  him,  but, 
of  course,  he  fell  to  me  a  good  part  of  the  time,  and 
what  with  that,  setting  the  table  and  making  the 
salad,  there  was  not  a  minute  till  dinner.  The  parent 
Weedens  went  to  lunch  at  the  Strangs' !  so  there  was 
no  walk.  Michael  went  off  to  get  golden  rods,  and 
came  back  so  late  that  the  tea  was  cold,  the  kitchen 
fire  out,  and  Jane  gone.  I  scalded  my  hand  trying 
to  heat  some  water  in  haste  for  his  cup ;  then  saw  him 
and  Papa  off  in  the  red  boat,  and  took  to  my  bed  and 
bag.  As  this  had  blown  out  of  window  and  been 
picked  up  by  Jane,  I  had  great  trouble  in  finding  it 
poked  under  a  newspaper  in  the  kitchen,  thus  had  but 
just  got  on  the  bed  with  Ambrose  and  day-bef ore's 
Advertiser,  which  Michael  had  jackdawed  in  his 
room,  —  when  I  heard  steps  storming  up  the  back- 
stairs, it  was  Papa  all  dripping.  He  had  tumbled 
into  the  pond  at  Julius'  landing  owing  to  a  loose 
plank,  and  was  wet  through  to  the  middle  of  his 
watch.  I  came  off  the  bed,  ran  down  and  made  a 
fire  in  the  red  room,  got  hot  water  to  make  him  a 
jorum  of  his  59 ;  took  away  his  wet  clothes,  and  then 
re-began  to  set  the  table  for  a  six-o'clock  tea  because 
Jane  wanted  to  go  to  meeting  (of  all  things !  the  first 

1  A  weekly  paper  written  by  the  Hale  family  and  read  aloud 
every  Sunday  after  service. 


194    LETTEES  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

time  in  her  life).  Mr.  McElroy  came  and  sate  down 
at  the  table  to  read  me  a  poem  of  Bret  Harte's,  so 
I  folded  my  hands  and  listened  to  that  with  external 
calm,  as  if  I  had  absolutely  nothing  else  to  think  of, 
till  Papa  appeared  in  such  dry  clothing  as  he  could 
find,  and  we  put  him  up  to  the  fire  to  dry.  Billy 
Weeden  wanted  to  stay  to  tea,  so  there  were  six.  but 
every  one  talkative  and  entertaining,  and  all  of  them 
helped  clear  off  the  things.  Jane  got  through  and 
away.  Eobby  and  I  made  bread.  At  eight  the  team 
and  Joe  came  to  take  the  guests  to  the  midnight  train 
at  Kingston;  and  at  nine  Robby  and  I  went  to  bed 
after  blanketing  all  round,  for  it  was  cold  and  rainy. 
Papa  seemed  all  right  this  morning,  and  his  watch  is 
going. 

Yours, 

SUSE. 

To  Miss  LTTCEETIA  P.  HALE 

MATUNTTCK,  RHODE  ISLAND, 
December  29,  1887. 

DEAR  LUC.,  —  It  is  working  splendidly,  but  abso- 
lutely no  time  to  write  about  it,  for  Jane  and  I  are 
busy  cooking  all  the  time  that  Franklin  and  I  are 
not  making  the  beds.  I  wish  you  could  get  a  good 
idea  of  it.  All  the  Weedens  joined  me  in  Providence, 
and  before  all  the  Hales  arrived  Tuesday  we  had  the 
dormitory  all  fitted  up.  Berty,  with  John  Diman 
and  George  Clarke,  drove  up  the  hill  with  Joe  Brown- 
ing, and  an  hour  later  Greta  with  Edward  (who  had 
waited  at  Kingston  for  her).  There  was  a  great 
hubbub  and  a  slight  lunch,  and  then  all  swarmed  off 
to  search  for  skating.  .  .  . 

I  went  out  to  find  them  about  three,  this  was  Tues- 
day, and  anything  more  lovely  I  can't  imagine.  It 
snowed  here  all  Monday  night,  but  cleared  off  during 


MATUNTJCK,   PAKIS,   SPAIN        195 

the  morning.  The  whole  country  was  exquisite  with 
a  soft,  iridescent  sort  of  sky,  and  round,  hazy  sun 
going  down.  Patches  of  white  snow  in  amongst  the 
oak-trees,  and  yellow  grass.  The  Salt-pond  (that  you 
see  from  the  piazza)  had  those  houses  sharp  reflected, 
as  often  in  summer,  but  now  in  ice  of  an  opaline 
greenish  tint.  Up  at  the  end  of  the  little  pond  I 
found  them  all  skating  round,  or  clearing  off  the 
snow,  or  building  a  great  fire,  though  it  was  warm 
like  summer.  They  all  were  picturesque  in  fur  caps, 
short  trousers,  good  legs,  —  the  girls  in  bright  colours, 
with  furs,  —  and  elated,  with  glowing  cheeks  —  I 
left  them  to  come  home  and  set  the  table,  and  the 
scene  outdoors  was  perfectly  delicious.  We  dine  at 
four-thirty  —  Jane  prefers  it!  says  it  saves  her 
trouble,  and  of  course  it  does.  The  dining-room  looks 
sweet  with  fire,  swinging-lamp,  screen,  set  for  nine 
(our  number).  That  night  we  had  roast  turkey, 
Marlboro  pie,  cranberry,  cauliflower,  nuts  and  raisins, 
all  very  jolly,  —  and  passed  the  evening  prattling, 
with  the  banjo,  —  and  forming  great  plans  for  spend- 
ing all  the  next  day  on  the  ice. 

The  wind  went  round  in  the  night,  and  in  the 
morning  it  was  a  pouring  S.  E.  storm,  raining  so 
hard  that  everyone  who  ventured  out  got  wet  through ! 
This  was  a  strain  on  the  resources  of  the  house,  but 
the  day  passed  merrily  —  and  in  the  evening  the  boys 
had  a  "  Minstrel,"  performances  with  songs  written 
during  the  day,  and  a  dance  by  Edward. 

To  reward  them  this  morning  it  is  clear  again,  and 
new  ice  made,  and  they  are  all  up  at  "  Venus's  Mir- 
ror" skating  again. 

The  men  all  sleep  in  the  parlour  with  a  roaring 
fire,  and  four  beds  crammed  as  close  as  they  can  be, 
and  piled  with  blankets,  washbowls  on  the  window- 
seats,  and  looking-glasses  hung  on  pegs,  —  and  up- 
stairs Greta  and  Leila  in  your  room,  me  in  Papa's. 


196    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

Old  Franklin,  all  day  long,  goes  from  one  fire  to 
another  (five  in  the  house),  piling  on  wood.  Time 
for  mail-man. 

YE.  SUSE. 

To  MBS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

PROVIDENCE,  April  12,  1888. 

DEAR  CAROLINE,  —  ...  I  had  a  splendid  time  in 
New  York.  People  thought  well  of  me !  I  had 
lunches  and  dinners,  eke  flowers  were  sent  to  me. 
The  only  objection  was  that  the  pace  nearly  killed 
me,  and  I  wish  now  to  do  nothing  but  sleep.  I 
stopped  over  for  a  few  days  with  the  friendly 
Weedens  here,  to  talk  over  the  coming  campaign  at 
Matunuck,  but  to-morrow  I  fly  to  the  arms  of  Jane, 
and  long  to  be  there,  and  to  see  the  spring  a  bustin'. 
I  was  so  afraid  it  would  or  had  busted  before  I  ar- 
rived, and  looked  anxiously  from  the  car  window  lest 
early  golden  rod  should  be  appearing  at  the  wayside. 
By  luck  it  hasn't  quite  begun,  and  patches  of  snow 
still  occupy  the  hollows. 

I  am  much  pleased  with  New  York.  There  is  less 
gossip  and  more  social  life  than  in  little  Boston. 
Your  neighbours  may  be  worse,  but  there  is  less  said 
about  them.  I  really  do  think  the  interests  of  people's 
lives  are  broader,  certainly  more  varied.  .  .  . 

Always  yours, 

SUSIE. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

MATUNUCK,  EHODE  ISLAND,  October  7,  1888. 

(Raining  as  usual.} 

DEAR  LUC., —  .  .  .  Well,  now,  I  will  give  some 
account  of  myself  since  the  Weedens'  departure,  only 
I  have  elsewhere  depicted  that  period,  in  letters  you 
may  have  seen. 


MATUNUCK,   PARIS,   SPAIN         197 

On  Wednesday,  my  dear,  with,  great  anguish  I  put 
Clementina  in  the  basket  which  contained  all  summer 
the  Globe-earned  worsteds.  She  was  so  sweet;  seemed 
to  foresee  her  fate,  ate  a  careful  breakfast,  and  let 
me  put  her  in,  although  all  tremblings,  without  a 
struggle,  wasn't  it  odd!  The  string  was  tangled  in 
her  hind  leg.  She  rose  to  adjust  it,  then  settled  her- 
self on  "  sucking-blankets  "  placed  at  the  bottom  of 
the  basket.  I  carried  basket  down  to  Weedens', 
speaking  words  of  cheer  on  the  way,  and  handed  it 
over  to  Nelly,  the  second  girl.  I  learn  that  Clemen- 
tina did  n't  stir  or  struggle  all  the  way  to  Providence. 
Nelly  Balch  met  them  at  the  station,  and  took  Tina 
in  horse-cars  to  her  new  house;  where  Nelly  Balch 
wrote  she  was  sleeping  "  comfortabils "  on  a  couch, 
not  disturbed  in  mind  by  the  journey.  This  is  all 
a  great  comfort,  and  an  immense  relief  to  have  her 
gone,  though  I  miss  her;  but  not  to  have  to  consider 
open  or  shut  doors,  cold,  the  chicken  bones,  is  a  won- 
derful relaxation,  and  as  I  can  think  of  her  happy 
and  contented,  and  laugh  with  Jander  about  her  at- 
tractive little  customs,  it's  much  better  than  having 
her  here.  Nevertheless,  as  soon  as  the  Weedens 
were  gone,  I  took  to  my  bed,  and  stayed  there  all  day, 
and  all  night,  without  budging,  or  doing  anything  but 
doze.  I  had  quite  a  headache  for  basis  of  such  ac- 
tion, but  was  more  worn  out  in  mind;  in  fact,  it 
seemed  a  fit  occasion  to  give  up.  Lizzie  was  sick  and 
in  bed,  unable  to  cook  a  dinner;  there  was  nothing 
in  the  house  to  eat,  and  no  one  to  eat  it.  The  Post- 
office  was  gone,  all  the  letters  were  lost,  therefore 
none  to  answer,  and  no  way  to  get  them  anywhere, 
newspapers,  ditto.  I  had  no  money,  and  no  means 
of  spending  any.  My  clothes  were  all  torn  to  pieces, 
and  a  large  hole  in  my  only  shoe.  The  Weedens  were 
all  gone,  Clementina  was  gone,  Joe  Browning  was 
gone  with  the  Weedens.  The  Albert  Sebastians  were 


198    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

all  drunk.  The  Brownings  had  killed  their  large  pig. 
"  TJncle  George "  was  mad  because  the  P.  O.  was 
shut,  and  did  n't  come  for  the  swill  because  there  was 
no  Prov.  Journal  for  him  to  read,  besides  there  was  n't 
any  swill.  Now  don't  you  think  all  the  requisites 
for  giving  up  were  here  ?  I.  gave  up.  Nor  must  I 
forget  to  add  that  it  was  cold,  very  cold,  and  raining, 
of  course ;  and  all  the  wood  was  so  wet  that  none  of 
it  would  burn,  so  there  was  no  fire.  .  .  . 

Bed  was  warm  and  delicious.  I  wasn't  in  a  low 
state  of  nerves,  you  know,  nor  crying,  only  calmly, 
cheerfully,  discouraged.  Understand  my  night  gown 
on,  and  clothes  all  off  as  for  the  night,  blinds  shut, 
a  pleasing  dark  pervading  the  room.  There  was  an 
interlude  at  noon  during  which  I  rose  and  prepared 
a  delicious  tomato  soup  out  of  chicken  bone,  put  it 
in  two  bowls  on  two  trays  with  two  slices  of  dry 
toast,  carried  one  to  Lizzie's  bedside  and  adminis- 
tered it  her;  brought  the  other  to  my  own  bedside, 
got  into  bed,  and  ate  my  own,  put  the  bowl  aside, 
and  much  refreshed  turned  myself  to  the  wall. 

All  was  absolute  silence  about  the  house,  and  miles 
about  the  country — .  Suddenly,  a  trampling  in  the 
entry !  I  rose,  and  over  the  bannisters  parleyed  with 
—  Mr.  Matlack,  come  to  board  for  a  week!  .  .  . 

I  hawked  him  out  of  the  house  with  a  round  turn 
and  down  to  Cashman's  and  silence  fell  again  on  the 
house.  By  and  by  it  was  dark  (a  wet  evening),  and 
then  the  long  night ;  I  had  a  lovely  rest. 

And  rose,  at  the  usual  hour  on  Thursday,  a  giant 
refreshed.  Tapped  at  Lizzie's  door.  "Lizzie,  do 
you  feel  like  getting  breakfast?"  "Yes'm!"  said 
a  hungry  voice.  So  we  began  life  again  cheerily. 
The  mail-man  came  with  letters  from  everywhere. 
The  sun  came  out,  and  I  dined  on  the  porch  off 
stewed  duck,  very  delicious,  with  a  wonderful  pud- 
ding Lizzie  has  discovered.  Took  a  great  walk  in 


MATUNUCK,   PAKIS,   SPAIN         199 

the  afternoon,  and  felt  very  happy,  relieved  from  the 
burden  of  humanity  and  cats.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  Miss  LUCEETIA  P.  HALE 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  Tuesday, 
October  IB,  1888. 

DEAB  LUC., —  .  .  .  All  seems  rounding  well  in, 
now,  and  I  am  impatient  to  be  off,  although  the 
weather  is  lovely  here.  Saw  a  beautiful  sunrise  from 
my  bed  this  morning,  having  left  the  window  open 
for  it,  —  and  just  two  minutes  after  it  was  up,  the 
sun  I  mean,  my  clock  struck  six.  The  almanac  says 
sunrise  was  to  be  at  five  fifty-eight.  It's  a  relief  to 
have  the  orb  so  punctual.  At  once,  Lizzie  came  out 
at  your  door,  soon  the  whir  of  the  egg-beater  was 
heard,  and  at  quarter  of  seven,  the  grind  of  the 
coffee-mill,  as  I  sate  chattering  in  my  bath.  Pond 
perfectly  exquisite  at  that  window.  At  seven  sharp 
I  seated  myself  on  the  porch  to  a  succulent  breakfast. 

Since  then,  alas !  clouds  and  chill,  and  I  have  re- 
tired to  the  red  room  and  a  fire.  But  I  can't  be  writ- 
ing you  more.  Only  you  may  see  how  well  done  up 
my  affairs  are  to  allow  this  dawdling.  I  read,  read, 
read  these  old  novels  at  every  moment.  Let's  see: 

All  to  be  riveted  in  my  head  to  stay  till  November ! 

Sir  Charles 3,500  pages 

Udolpho      1,700  pages 

Cecilia 975  pages 

Thaddeus 571)  fl 

Children  of  the  Abbey  .    .    .    .      628  P116  pn 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 


CHAPTER   VII 

Readings  in  Chicago,  Washington  and  New  York  — 
Trip  on  yacht  "  Gitana "  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
William  F.  Weld  —  Summer  at  Matunuck  — 
Another  winter  of  lectures  and  readings,  1890. 

(1888-1890) 
To  Miss  LUCEETIA  P.  HALE 

CHICAGO,  Monday,  November  5,  1888. 

DEAR  LUC., —  .  .  .  The  election  is  making  a 
hurrah-boys,  and  on  Saturday  there  were  but  few  at 
Mr.  Jones's  Church,  on  account  of  two  rival  proces- 
sions which  encumbered  the  streets  and  almost  pre- 
vented our  getting  there  in  the  cable-car,  which  might 
be  called  remark-cable  car,  it  is  so  fearsome. 

When  I  get  to  Churches'  I  will  try  to  write  my 
events,  can't  now  remember  where  I  left  off! 
"  Udolpho"  Thursday  at  Mrs.  Babcock's  was  the  first 
great  success  as  a  reading,  the  folks  had  then  found 
out  they  were  to  laugh;  and  it  went  off  quite  easily; 
same  here  the  next  evening,  for  Mrs.  D.  had  me  re- 
peat it  instead  of  Cecilia.  There  were  lots  of  jolly 
people  here,  and  every  one  enjoyed  it. 

Saturday  Mrs.  Glessner  gave  me  a  stunning  lunch, 
of  twelve  ladies,  all  important.  I  sate  between  the 
hostess  and  Mrs.  Potter  Palmer,  a  north-side  mag- 
nate of  great  importance,  a  very  pretty  little  young 
woman  married  to  an  ancient  millionaire.  We  had 
two  butlers,  and  great  display  of  table  splendour,  all 
in  good  taste  and  as  absolutely  in  the  latest  style  as 


CHICAGO,  WASHINGTON,  NEW  YORK    201 

possible.  I  like  Mrs.  Glessner  much.  She  had  on 
a  tea-gown  of  flowered  yellow  silk  trimmed  with  rich 
lace,  and  made  smock  fashion.  The  ice  was  in  real 
calla  lilies,  resting  each  on  its  own  leaf  in  the  plate. 
The  house  is  very  handsome,  built  round  its  own 
patio,  from  which  comes  all  the  light,  the  windows 
on  the  street  being  mere  slits. 

Last  night  we  tea-d  (dinner  Sundays  middle  of  day 
here)  at  Baldwins',  who  love  Papa  Edward  since 
they  saw  him  at  Orange,  New  Jersey,  years  ago. 
Very  jolly  people,  we  had  a  great  deal  of  lively,  easy 
talk.  Their  house  abuts  the  lake,  with  only  a  great 
high  pillar  between,  which  contains  on  its  top  Fred 
Douglass,  preparing  to  dive  into  the  lake.  The  lake 
is  perfectly  enchanting,  the  saving  of  the  place 
for  natural  charm.  In  the  morning  we  went  for 
virtue's  sake  to  the  Unitarian  Church,  formerly 
Brooke  Herford's,  and  heard  an  unutterably  dull 
sermon.  Mrs.  D.  prefers  Salter,  who  does  Ethical 
Morality,  and  married  a  Gibbens,  sister  to  Mrs. 
Willy  James. 

Dr.  Dudley  is  delightful,  I  take  great  pleasure  in 
making  him  smile.  He  is  full  of  good  stories,  which 
I  will  try  to  remember. 

Altogether  'tis  very  strange  and  amusing,  some- 
what fatiguing,  to  have  to  cram  a  novel  each  day,  and 
read  it  each  night,  but  the  task  is  waning,  only  three 
more.  Oli,  I  expressed  on  Saturday,  to  Belle  Wil- 
son, all  the  books  I  have  done  with,  for  her  to  return 
to  B.  Library;  and  eke  with  them,  to  get  it  off  my 
mind,  my  own  "  Sir  Charles  Grandison,"  which  she 
may  keep  till  December. 

We  are  all  goose-flesh  about  the  election ;  Dr.  Dud- 
ley is  Republican,  and  almost  every  one  I  see  is ; 
calling  Cleveland  a  beast  and  a  brute,  so  't  is  a  very- 
agreeable  political  atmosphere.  If  the  Reps,  win, 
and  Chicago  is  sure  they  will,  't  will  be  terrible  f ac- 


202    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

ing  the  mugwump  Churches  and  Democrat  Osborns. 
Hark,  the  door-bell  ?  No  —  but 't  is  time,  so  farewell. 

Yours, 

SUSAN. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

1820  N  STREET,  WASHINGTON,  Tuesday, 
January  8, 1889. 

Oh,  my  dear,  I  must  now  again  take  up  the  labour- 
ing pen,  though  I  am  most  dead ;  I  guess  writing  to 
you  will  rest  me  more  than  casting  myself  on  the 
bed.  Last  night  was  the  "Elixir,"  a  great  success, 
after  a  tumultuous  day.  We  were  not  home  till 
twelve,  so  I  feel  like  a  rag  to-day  —  but  cough,  let 
me  hasten  to  say,  much  better,  and  voice  malleable, 
without  black-in-the-faceness.  .  .  . 

I  dressed  for  75,  and  Hutchinson,  English  maid, 
and  I  repaired  in  a  herdic  (which  we  sent  back)  to 
the  Berrys'.  Mrs.  Van  Rensselaer  Berry  is  sister 
to  Mrs.  Nat.  Thayer.  The  house  is  very  handsome, 
and  all  lighted  with  candles.  Not  very  good  for  the 
purpose,  being  long,  old-fashioned  drawing-rooms 
(like  Uncle  Edward's  in  Summer  Street),  but  I  had 
a  small  platform,  and  it  did  well  enough.  Arthur 
was  there,  M.  Hurtado,  a  little  French  attache,  came 
to  get  his  orders  (in  French)  for  playing  the  entre- 
actes.  He  did  nicely.  Hfutchinson  was  perfect,  in 
dressing  me,  and  it  went  without  a  hitch;  lights, 
rouge,  powder,  clothes,  very  becoming,  I  guess,  and 
all  satisfactory.  Do  tell  Miss  Bolger  that  the  blue 
dress  came  out  stunning,  and  that  back  looked  young 
if  nothing  else  did.  Obedient  to  Hutchinson,  I  re- 
sumed that  to  appear  in  company,  only  fancy!  with 
the  feather  pompon  atop  of  me! 

There  were  swarms  of  real  friendly  souls  there,  so 
that  I  was  quite  at  ease  and  surrounded,  and  plenty 


CHICAGO,  WASHINGTON,  NEW  YOEK    203 

new  ones  introduced.  Alexander  Bliss,  Cabot  Lodge, 
Langley  again,  young  Dodge,  and  Eebecca,  sons  of 
Leila  Gilman,  that  Bristed  girl  I  used  to  teach,  now 
married  to  Griffiths  or  Griffin,  Emily  Tuckerman, 
her  mother,  —  the  whole  Bailey  Loring  tribe,  him- 
self, Madame,  and  Sallie ;  —  it 's  so  long  since  I  Ve 
been  at  a  party,  it  tired  me  bellowing  at  them  all; 
Kitty  Everett ;  her  young  son,  Leo ;  Cousin  Hopkins, 
abandoned  by  all  his  females ;  Mr.  Graham  Bell,  and 

Mrs.    (who    understood    every    word    of   the 

"Elixir");  Mr.  Eugene  Hale,  very  demonstrative 
in  his  praise  of  it;  sweet  Miss  Clymer,  I  knew  here 
before,  and  her  mother;  my  feeble  mind  refuses  to 
recall  more  —  all  very  complimentary,  and  all  ap- 
parently coming  to  my  reading  this  p.  M. 

'Tis  a  pity;  they  have  so  oversold  the  tickets  that 
we  have  moved  the  readings  into  the  Sunday-school 
room  of  the  Unitarian  Church.  Many  deprecate 
this,  and  none  more  than  I,  but  they  seem  to  think 
it  can't  be  helped.  Anyhow  it's  their  own  doings; 
but  it 's  harder  for  me  to  be  colloquial  from  a  great 
platform,  reading  desk,  and  so  on,  than  in  a  pretty 
parlour;  a  little  more  platform  last  night,  and  less 
to-day  would  be  more  to  the  purpose.  .  .  .  Hastily 
closing, 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

1820  N  STREET,  WASHINGTON,  Friday, 

January  11,  1889. 

DEAR  LUC.,  —  I  will  now  attack  another  big  letter 
to  you,  for  there  seems  signs  of  delightful  calm. 
Mrs.  Hobson,  wisely,  plans  nothing  for  our  morn- 
ings—  unless  I  have  calls  from  specialists,  so  to 
speak,  I  have  the  whole  morning  in  my  room  drop- 


204    LETTEES  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

ping  down  on  her  in  hers  occasionally,  to  exchange 
(literally)  notes  we  receive,  asking  us  to  things,  and 
confer  generally  on  the  outlook. 

I  have  my  second  reading  this  p.  M.,  so  seclusion 
is  especially  well,  to  cram  my  "Female  Quixote,"  and 
rest  my  voice,  which  by  the  way  is  almost  in  its 
normal;  my  nose-cold  still  hangs  on  to  the  great 
detriment  of  h'd'k'f 's,  but  that 's,  of  course,  a  minor 
evil. 

But  to  the  charge.  I  wrote  Anne  B.  somewhat 
about  the  first  reading.  It  now  seems  seons  ago.  It 
is  terrible  having  it  taken  out  of  parlours  and  put 
into  a  horrible  Unitarian  Sunday-school,  but  it  went 
off  much  better  than  I  hoped,  and  now  I  have  ceased 
worrying  about  it,  for  it  really  makes  much  more 
money.  They  took  seventy-seven  dollars  at  the  door, 
over  and  above  the  hundred  or  more  season  tickets 
they  had  worked  off  beforehand ;  and  more  are  ex- 
pected at  every  reading,  as  it  is  town-talk.  Mrs. 
McGuire,  whose  mother,  old  Mrs.  Taylor,  is  one  of 
the  earliest  inhabitants  and  a  mighty  Unitarian, 
offers  me  her  cab  to  drive  to  every  reading.  Mrs. 
Stone  (president  of  the  charity)  sent  me  flowers, 
which  furnished  my  front.  I  had  on  my  black  silk, 
and  black  French  bonnet  with  flowers  in  it.  When 
we  reached  the  place,  I  was  put  in  a  little  side 
"  study,"  and  here  came  in  to  me  the  Rev.  Rush 
Shippen  to  minister  to  me.  He  was  to  introduce  me 
(and  did  it  very  well,  by  the  way).  All  my  hand- 
maidens had  left  me  and  I  was  alone  with  him,  when 
an  infernal  button  at  the  back  of  my  neck,  which 
holds  the  plastron  of  my  shut-up  waist,  came  undone 
—  no  looking-glass  or  anything,  my  gloves  all  on. 

"Mr.  Shippen,"  said  I,  in  despair,  "can  you  do 
a  button?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  the  man,  in  a  maze; 
he  looked  at  it  utterly  helpless.  "Ah  — I  — I  — 


CHICAGO,  WASHINGTON,  NEW  YOKK     205 

will  call  one  of  the  ladies,"  said  he ;  we  looked  out  at 
the  door  into  the  passageway.  Luckily  a  swarm  of 
women  I  knew  were  there.  I  summoned  them  in  and 
amongst  them  they  fixed  me,  in  great  merriment, — 
Emily  Tuckerman,  Harriet  Bancroft,  Grace  Kuhn; 
and  the  latter  (so  nicely)  said,  "You  look  charm- 
ingly, Miss  Hale,  your  dress  is  just  right."  Wasn't 
this  kind  of  her  ?  —  a  Boston  woman  too !  Harriet 
was  also  very  nice;  they  passed  off  to  the  hall,  but 
she  came  flying  back  in  a  minute,  saying,  "  Susan ! 
you  don't  want  to  stand  up,  in  a  pulpit!!" 
"  Heavens,  no ! "  She  flew  off  again,  hailed  Ship- 
pen  to  the  task,  they  moved  the  pulpit,  got  a  great 
chair  from  the  church,  got  a  small  table,  glass  of 
water,  etc.  (All  so  shiftless  this  not  done  before- 
hand!) I  now  advanced  through  a  crowd  of  seateds 
on  each  side  a  narrow  aisle,  and  ascended  the  plat- 
form. It  was  appalling,  so  ugly,  and  the  chair  was 
a  high-backed,  slippery  horse-hair  sort  of  throne,  my 
feet  hung  down  in  full  view  of  my  audience,  which 
stretched  back  into  dim  depths  of  distance.  My  heart 
sank,  but  I  took  it  in  both  hands,  and  began  to  talk 
about  Sir  Charles  in  the  airiest  colloquial  way,  as 
if  I  were  perfectly  happy  and  at  my  ease  —  had  to 
bellow  to  fill  the  place,  and  'tis  hard  to  bellow  col- 
loquially. The  effect  was  magic,  a  broad  smile  broke 
out  on  every  countenance,  and  after  that  every  one 
was  just  as  charming  as  possible,  and  I  really  en- 
joyed their  sympathy  with  all  I  said  and  read.  Was 
not  that  nice  ?  Kept  seeing  lots  of  friendly  faces, 
all  looking  real  pleased,  as  if  they  thought  it  was 
going  well.  It  lasted  two  good  hours,  and  no  one 
rustled  or  moved  or  got  up  to  go.  Chief  trouble  is 
that  I  have  to  speak  much  slower  than  in  a  small 
room,  so  had  to  omit  lots  I  had  marked  to  read,  and, 
in  fact,  wound  the  dear  characters  up  with  a  round 
turn,  scarce  dwelling  on  the  courtship,  punctilio,  and 


206    LETTEES  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

wedding.  But  all  seemed  delighted,  and  swarmed 
about  me  after  it  was  over  to  compliment.  I  can't 
say  too  much  of  the  niceness  of  Emily  Tuckerman, 
Harriet,  Susie  Loring,  and  a  dozen  others,  who  sate 
literally  at  my  feet  and  sort  of  egged  me  on  by  their, 
what  you  might  call,  tender  applause.  It  was  a  fine 
representation  they  say  of  old  residents,  and  solid 
worth.  Mrs.  Cleveland  was  not  there,  but  old  Mrs. 
Folsom  was,  they  say.  I  move,  you  know,  chiefly  in 
Republican  circles,  yet  not  to  the  exclusion  of  Gov- 
ernment people.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSE. 

To  Miss  LTJCEETIA  P.  HALE 

1820  N  STREET,  WASHINGTON,  D.  C., 
Tuesday,  January  15,  1889. 

DEAR  LUC., —  ...  At  three,  Mrs.  Secretary  Fair- 
child  came  for  B.  and  me,  and  we  were  admitted  to 
the  White  House  by  private  entrance,  that  curved 
perron  at  the  back,  by  the  way,  the  monument  being 
done  like  Bunker  Hill  and  Cleopatra's  needle  and  all 
other  obelisks  on  top  of  each  other ;  the  view  there  is 
the  finest  in  the  world. 

We  knew  by  the  swell  of  human  beings  that  the 
reception  had  begun,  indeed  the  outside  was  black 
with  masses  of  well-dressed  people.  We  joined  the 
file  and  entered  the  Blue  Room,  where  Mrs.  Cleve- 
land stood  in  the  doorway,  and  along  next  her  a  row 
of  richly  dressed  young  dames.  Our  names  were  given, 
we  shook  hands  and  were  yanked  along  this  line,  and 
then,  let  in  behind,  to  stay  in  the  rest  of  the  room 
while  the  presentations  went  forward.  The  receiv- 
ing line  were  fenced  out,  as  it  were,  by  backs  of  sofas, 
which  left  the  Blue  Room  open  for  the  favoured  one 
hundred  or  eighty,  like  us,  while  the  crowd  were 
passed  along  into  the  East  Room,  and  so  out.  More 


CHICAGO,  WASHINGTON,  NEW  YORK    207 

than  a  thousand  thus  passed.  Meanwhile,  it  was  a 
party,  where  we  were,  of  pleasing  people,  all  unheed- 
ing the  stream;  except  we  could  go  and  watch  Mrs. 
Cleveland  at  it.  She  is  really  very  distinguished 
looking.  Had  on  a  white  party  gown,  with  fluffy 
white  feather  trimming  about  her  stately  throat,  but 
all  open  and  low  necked.  She  rested  her  left  arm 
on  the  sofa-back,  holding  in  that  hand  a  white  ostrich 
feather  fan,  and  hauled  the  people  past  her  as  if  she 
were  landing  a  whale.  Miss  Ellen  Bayard  was 
amongst  the  receiving  young  ladies.  She  that  was 
with  Fiskes.  In  behind  were  Mrs.  Hoar,  Mrs. 
Dawes,  and  Anna  Dawes;  Mrs.  Commodore  Har- 
mony, Miss  Leiter  (perhaps  the  belle  of  Washing- 
ton) lots  I  knew  and  did  n't  know.  It  was  kept  up 
till  five.  My  dear  —  Mrs.  Dr.  Mary  Walker  was  in 
the  crowd.  Horrid-looking  little  thing.  Towards  the 
end  the  great  man  Cleveland  came  in,  and  we  were 
introduced  to  him. 

As  for  the  President,  I  was  amazed  to  see  him  so 
far  from  distinguished  looking,  for  have  n't  the  mug- 
wumps proclaimed  him  as  the  glass  of  fashion,  etc.  ? 
Mrs.  C.  undoubtedly  is  distinguished.  She  is  taller 
than  her  spouse.  Well ;  we  pretended  to  go ;  taking 
leave  of  our  Royal  Hostess,  but  she  begged  us  to  stay 
to  tea ;  so  by  and  by  we  were  led  through  the  retiring 
throng,  a  passage  made  for  us,  to  the  grand  stairway ; 
and  up  two  flights,  as  it  were,  in  the  back-entry  be- 
tween bedrooms,  tea  was  set  out  at  two  tables,  Mrs. 
Cleveland  at  one,  and  my  friend  Ellen  Bayard  at  the 
other.  I  dropped  naturally  into  a  seat  by  the  latter, 
and  helped  her  prattle  with  her  men,  one  of  whom 
was  Captain  Duvall,  who  had  been  bellowing  the 
names  to  Mrs.  President  all  the  P.  M.  Also  Burnett 
was  there. 

Thirty  or  forty  people  (intimes  like  myself)  thus 
remained.  Of  course  this  was  the  influence  of  Mrs. 


208    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

Fairchild.  We  came  away  and  down  the  steps  in 
the  loveliest  of  moonlight,  the  sweet  peaceful  scene 
stretching  off  to  the  river,  a  contrast  to  the  fevered 
crowd  within.  But  it  is  a  splendid  Kepublican  sight, 
all  those  well-dressed,  well-behaved  people  filing 
through  the  White  House  to  do  homage  to  their  chief 
magistrates.  .  .  . 

That  evening,  Sunday,  a  family  dinner  at  the 
G.  B.  Lorings',  perhaps  the  pleasantest  tiling  yet :  — 
only  eight,  thus:  Mr.  Loring,  me  next,  then  Senator 
Hoar,  Mrs.  Loring;  opposite  the  host  came  Mr. 
Blaine,  Sally  Loring  on  his  right,  next  General  Ber- 
dan,  then  Mrs.  Hoar  (Ruth,  so  friendly  and  .home- 
like). All  these  men  very  talkative  and  nice,  and 
after  dinner  we  all  sate  in  a  group  and  heard  them 
tell  stories.  I  am  quite  in  love  with  Blaine,  he  is 
so  drooped  and  white,  and  unsuccessful.  As  I  looked 
at  him,  I  kept  thinking  how  it  would  have  seemed 
to  plunge  the  dagger  into  him  a  la  Corday,  as  I  in- 
tended, you  know,  if  he  had  not  declined  the  nomina- 
tion. He  is  fairly  worshipped  here  as  a  god  in  his 
circle.  In  Washington  you  might  say  the  Republican 
party  is  Blaine ;  they  are  so  short-sighted ;  their  only 
idea  is  who  will  look  well  in  the  White  House.  They 
are  all  worrying  lest  Mrs.  Harrison  should  prove  not 
femme  du  monde.  .  .  .  But  Blaine,  I  am  <5onvinced, 
will  do-  no  more  harm,  so  I  can  afford  to  admire  and 
pity  him.  He  was  certainly  most  agreeable. 

Monday,  was  a  great  lunch  for  me  chez ,  im- 
mensely rich  people.  They  have  a  chef,  and  the  cor- 
poreal lunch  was  stunning.  Little  moulds  of  pate 
de  fois  were  made  with  suitable  designs,  and  the 
chef  wept  he  was  not  informed  early  enough  that  I 
was  literary,  because  he  would  have  made  an  open 
book  for  my  one,  with  printed  page  of  truffle.  As  it 
was  I  had  the  anchor  of  hope.  A  great  bed  of  fat 
red  roses  nearly  covered  the  table.  Ten  fat  stupid 


CHICAGO,  WASHINGTON,  NEW  YORK    209 

women  were  the  guests,  they  all  carried  on  before  me 
as  if  I  was  Shakespeare;  a  little  brains  goes  a  long 
way  here.  I  never  encountered  anything  like  it. 
"My  dear  Miss  Hale,  you!  such  accomplishments! 
You  really  read  and  spell!"  Gorged  with  truffles 
and  flattery  I  fled  home.  .  .  . 

Then  the  round  of  K  Street  receptions.  I  like 
this  business  greatly,  which  may  amaze  you ;  at  each 
house  the  same  people,  in  fact,  all  Washington  tail- 
ing* round  after  each  other  like  that  picture  in  "  Gam- 
mer Grethel"  of  the  boy  with  the  goose.  I  always 
see  someone  who  leaps  on  me,  and  Mrs.  Hobson  is 
delighted  with  me,  because  I  am  never  on  her  hands 
for  a  moment.  Quiet  evening,  early  bed;  to-day  a 
field-day,  which  I  leave  to  my  next. 

Yours  always, 

SUSIE. 

To  Miss  LTJCBETIA  P.  HALE 

32  PARK  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK, 

January  23,  1889. 

DEAR  LUC.,  —  ...  Now  to  return :  I  think  I 
wrote  you  last  Wednesday  morning,  before  the  great 
Warder  luncheon,  hope  I  don't  repeat.  The  Warder 
house  is  a  great  house  by  Richardson,  in  the  donjon- 
keep  style,  and  therefore  appropriate  to  Warder,  ho ! 
It  is  very  like  the  Glessner  house  in  Chicago,  where 
I  had  a  gorgeous  lunch,  so  you  may  call  it  odd,  or 
just  the  reverse,  to  have  it  prove  that  Glessner  is  the 
junior  partner  of  Warder,  and  that  the  money  that 
built  and  runs  both  houses  was  made  by  the  reaping- 
machine  that  "knocked  spots  out  of  McCormick." 
Only  in  Chicago  we  frankly  called  it  a  "  a  Reaper," 
as  if  we  knew  exactly  what  that  meant,  while  in 
Washington  we  say  "some  —  a  —  form  of  agricul- 
tural implement,"  with  an  ignorant  air,  as  if  such 


210    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  KALE 

knowledge  were  beneath  us.  Leaving  these  fine  dis- 
tinctions; the  Warders  gave  me  this  lunch  in  their 
keep,  which  is  more  gorgeous  even  than  the  Glessner 
one.  .  .  . 

We  went  at  one.  The  dining-room  was  darkened, 
and  lighted  by  artificial  means,  viz. :  cut-glass  cande- 
labra on  the  table  some  four  feet  high,  with  banks  of 
candles,  all  in  little  shades.  There  was  some  gas 
above,  but  very  dim,  the  vasty  ceilings  all  unillumi- 
nated.  Between  the  dining-room  and  the  picture- 
gallery  is  only  an  arcade  of  red  marble  columns  and 
through  this  vista,  the  large  pictures  (not  remarkably 
good,  but  well  enough),  were  to  be  seen  lighted  from 
concealed  gas  jets  above  them.  The  table  fairly 
sparkled  with  jewelled  glass  from  Carlsbad.  The 
table-cloth  would  have  amazed  Mrs.  "Butter" 
Browning  of  Matunuck,  for  it  had  a  broad  stripe  of 
embroidery  in  white  satin  running  the  length  of  it. 
There  were  men  at  this  lunch,  a  mitigating  feature 
invented  by  the  Warders.  Mr.  Warder  took  me,  and 
we  sat  as  king  and  queen  at  the  end  of  the  long,  wide 
table  —  fourteen  guests.  On  my  other  hand  was 
Admiral  Rodgers,  a  handsome,  charming  man  of 
sixty-five,  or  thereabouts.  Well,  we  began,  and  ate 
and  ate,  and  ate  and  ate.  Mrs.  Hobson  and  I  used  to 
know  what  the  courses  were  and  how  they  came,  but 
it 's  gone  from  me  now,  —  anyhow  there  wras  terrapin 
and  saddle  of  venison,  and  pheasant,  and  little  scal- 
loped things  in  saucepans  with  silver  handles,  and 
others  in  shells  without  handles,  and  shad  and  cucum- 
bers and  asparagus,  and  things  in  season  and  out  of 
season,  and  pain  and  champagne,  and  claret  and 
sherry,  and  Apollinaris,  and  real  water,  and  all  out 
of  beakers  that  sparkled  and  shone  internally  and 
externally. 

We  sparkled  and  shone  all  that  was  possible  under 
these  circumstances,  faint  yet  pursuing  as  each  new 


CHICAGO,  WASHINGTON,  NEW  YORK     211 

thing  came  on,  —  and  rose  from  table  a  little  before 
four.  Then  we  moved  into  the  picture-gallery  for 
coffee,  and  into  the  drawing-room  for  tea,  and  the 
great,  huge  bank  from  the  middle  of  the  table  of 
Jacqueminot  and  white  roses  stuck  with  hyacinths, 
was  passed  round  for  us  each  to  take  a  great  bunch 
to  carry  away.  Then  the  shutters  were  taken  down, 
and  the  guests  carried  off  on  them ;  this  is  figurative, 
to  say  we  went  out  into  the  daylight,  and  made  a  few 
K  Street  calls.  Luckily  we  had  no  dinner  engage- 
ment, and  were  so  dead  we  didn't  dream  of  going 
to  the  Bancroft  Davis  reception. 

Friday  was  our  great  field-day.  At  one  Mrs.  Hob- 
son  and  I  were  at  Admiral  Steedman's,  next  door, 
by  the  way,  to  the  Woodhull's.  You  know  dear  old 
Mrs.  Steedman  (now  nigh  eighty),  was  one  of  my 
first  ladies  to  listen  to  Forgotten  Novels,  ten  years 
ago;  and  before  that,  I  once  did  her  brain  club  for 
her.  She  has  always  been  most  kind  and  affectionate, 
goes  out  now  never,  but  gave  me  this  breakfast.  All 
Washington  warned  me  to  prepare  for  this,  as  her 
cooking  is  the  most  delicious  of  wonderful  things. 
She  is  of  Philadelphia  origin.  And  wonderful  it 
was.  The  dear  old  lady  at  one  end,  Rosa  at  the  other 
(her  only  unmarried  daughter),  Admiral  not  visible 
(but  he  called  on  me  one  day  previously),  then  six 
really  bright,  agreeable  women,  next  me  Mrs.  Bacon, 
who  was  Kate  Stoughton,  husband  in  the  navy,  great 
friend  of  Charlotte  Wise,  but  younger.  She  professes 
to  have  taken  a  passion  for  me,  and  has  missed  not 
a  chance  of  seeing  me,  sent  me  delicious  violets  for 
my  last  reading.  On  the  other  side  Mrs.  Wood,  they 
all  like,  handsome  woman,  western  husband,  lots  of 
money,  they  live  in  Mr.  Corcoran's  very  handsome 
house.  Opposite,  Miss  Turnbull,  great  favourite, 
lived  always  in  Washington;  Miss  Grey  (Bessie,  sis- 
ter of  Judge  Horace  Grey  of  Boston),  and  Mrs. 


212         LETTEKS    OF   SUSAN   HALE 

Hobson.  That  was  all;  such  things  to  eat,  all  were 
delicious;  for  instance,  "pone/'  in  a  kind  of  pud- 
ding to  eat  with  sausage !  waffles,  brought  in  hot,  and 
hot,  with  preserved  cherries  and  juice,  fried  chicken, 
all  creamed  and  brown,  not  to  speak  of  bouillon, 
oysters,  and  the  usual  things  thrown  in.  (The  bouil- 
lon at  the  Warders',  by  the  the  way,  was  served  in 
Sevres  cups  lined  with  gold,  crimson  outside  with 
medallions  containing  shepherdesses.)  This  Steed- 
man  affair  was  very  sweet  and  genial,  because  we 
were  all  bent  on  making  her  perceive  it  a  success. 
The  last  thing  was  home-made  cherry  bounce  in 
which  we  drank  her  daughter's  birthday  health.  We 
came  away  from  there  gorged,  to  plunge  into  our  own 
Friday  reception,  and  stood  receiving  all  afternoon. 
Swarms  of  people,  partly  for  me,  and  partly  for  Mrs. 
Vice-President-elect  Morton,  who  was  there,  having 
come  to  W.  for  a  few  days  to  engage  herself  a  house, 
etc.,  etc.  Pleasant  greetings  I  had  with  John  Hay, 
who  has  been  to  every  reading  (so  has  Harriet  Lane, 
Mrs.  Johnson),  William  Walter  Phelps,  Mrs.  Iron- 
side, Kasson,  oh,  hundreds  of  intimate  friends,  dear 
Admiral  Walker,  etc.,  etc.  They  stayed  till  it  was 
time  to  dress  for  the  Edmunds  dinner.  I  wore  my 
black  lace  with  the  cardinal  which  looks  very  pretty. 
It  ought  to  be  long,  as  should  all  my  clothes  for  that 
milieu.  Charming  dinner,  only  we  were  tired  and 
not  hungry.  I  sate  between  Kasson  and  Langley 
(the  diners-out  par  excellence  of  W.)  ;  Judge  and 
Mrs.  Blatchford  were  there,  Dr.  Leonard  and  Madam 
(rector  of  St.  John's,  the  fashionable  church),  Mr. 
Pellew.  ...  I  was  near  enough  my  dear  Senator 
Edmunds  to  hear  and  speak  with  him  occasionally, 
alas !  this  is  all  I  have  seen  of  him ;  but  Mrs.  Ed- 
munds and  the  daughter,  Mary,  are  lovely  to  me, 
loudly  lamenting  I  sketch  no  more  in  water-colours. 
We  left  at  ten-thirty,  and  might  have  gone  on  to 


CHICAGO,  WASHINGTON",  NEW  YOKK    213 

Mrs.  Secretary  Whitney's  jam,  but  flesh  and  blood 
resisted,  and  we  went  home  to  bed. 

On  Saturday  my  last  reading,  very  pleasant,  for 
every  one  crowded  round  to  say  farewell,  and  praise, 
and  wish  they  could  go  on  forever.  It  was  "  Chil- 
dren of  the  Abbey,"  and  they  roared  at  the  fun.  I 
wore  my  violets  from  Mrs.  Bacon,  black  gown,  black 
lace  bonnet.  My  feet  in  good  boots  are  much  seen 
and  admired,  on  the  heisty  platform  they  give 
me.  .  .  . 

Always  Mrs.  McGuire's  cab,  for  the  reading,  you 
know.  In  it  at  the  close  Susie  Loring  and  I  flew  to 
Mrs.  Whitney's  musicale,  and  were  just  in  time.  For 
the  reason  you  had  no  rehearsal,  my  dear,  was  that 
your  orchestra  had  a  concert  Friday  night  in  Wash- 
ington, and  the  next  p.  M.,  Adamowski  and  his 
stringed  quartet  were  bid  to  play  by  the  far-scheming 
Mrs.  Whitney.  It  was  a  charming  occasion.  Her 
lovely  celebrated  salon  where  Sherwood  read,  and 
where  I  should  have,  if  they  hadn't  moved  me  into 
the  vestry,  one  of  the  most  perfect  of  rooms.  Several 
hundred  people,  but  scattered  about  on  crimson  divans 
with  masses  of  roses  over  them,  on  comfortable  chairs. 
The  music  on  a  dais  in  an  alcove.  Everybody 
(straight  from  my  reading)  in  their  best  street  cos- 
tumes. I  knew  the  most  of  them  (more  than  I 
should  in  proportion  in  a  Boston  drawing-room), 
all  saying  pleasant  things.  Mrs.  Whitney  very  effu- 
sive. Adamowski  played  a  ravir  and  they  were  all 
carried  away  with  him,  and  wanted  to  learn  from  me 
his  previous  career.  I  felt  very  light-hearted,  be- 
cause out  of  the  woods  and  no  slip  about  the  readings 
(two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  safe  in  my  pocket, 
and  I  guess  about  five  hundred  dollars  for  the  char- 
ity), so  I  could  enjoy  my  homage  at  my  ease.  We 
slipped  off  without  stopping  for  tea.  .  .  . 

At  seven-thirty,  a  charming,  cosy  dinner  at  Mr. 


214        LETTERS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

Sam  Ward's,  sitting  between  him  and  young  Ward 
Thoron,  a  charming  fellow,  just  from  Harvard. 
Langley  there,  of  course,  and  Lowndes,  the  hero  of 
that  novel,  "  Democracy."  After  dinner  some  thirty 
people  came  in.  The  Swiss  Minister  who  talks  agree- 
ably in  French;  Cabot  Lodge;  Mrs.  Barlow  (nee 
Shaw)  wife  of  General,  —  Mr.  Fairchild,  etc.  —  all 
very  well  with  me  —  especially  Mr.  Ward,  who  talked 
of  Fullum  and  the  Friday  Night  Club.  Home  in  a 
vile  slush,  hard  to  get  to  our  herdic,  and  up  our  own 
steps. 

Now  for  Monday,  last  day.  At  eleven  in  the  morn- 
ing, old  Madam  Stone  (corner-stone  of  W.  I  call  her, 
you  know),  fetched  me  to  the  Louise  Home,  insti- 
tuted by  Mr.  Corcoran  for  decayed  gentlewomen,  to 
read  to  them !  It  was  such  a  time,  old  birds  swarm- 
ing round  me,  delighted  with  the  ball  scene  in  "  Chil- 
dren of  the  Abbey,"  and  in  the  midst  a  great  bouquet 
of  flowers  for  me  from  Mrs.  Cleveland,  with  a  card 
in  her  own  handwriting,  great  was  the  glory  and  the 
praise.  Old  ladies  nearly  wild;  they  hung  on  my 
neck  at  parting,  and  are  ever  since  quarrelling  over 
one  copy  of  the  "  Children  of  the  Abbey."  Mrs. 
Stone  is  so  much  enchanted  with  me  for  this  act,  that 
she  can  scarce  keep  within  bounds.  .  .  . 

Saturday  we  had  delicious  "  Siegfried"  at  the  opera, 
the  most  charming  fairy-tale,  scenery,  plot,  orchestra, 
singing,  all  enchanting.  If  you  remember,  I  left 
Brunhilde  last  year  asleep  on  a  mountain  surrounded 
by  flames,  and  Siegfried  just  about  to  be  born.  He 
was  now  grown  up,  welding  a  sword  for  himself  with 
which  we  saw  him  slay  a  great  dragon,  named  Fafner, 
then  found  Brunhilde,  waked  her  up,  and  married 
her,  she  still  the  right  age  for  such  purposes,  being 
a  Walkiire. 

Yours, 
SUSE. 


CHICAGO,  WASHINGTON,  NEW  YORK    215 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

"ALHAMBRA,"  GRANADA,  March  IS,  1889. 
.  .  .  Thursday  evening  was  our  really  last  dinner 
at  moorings,  with  Elliot  Lee  and  Dr.  Goddard.  .  .  . 
And  on  Friday  we  were  really  off.  I  was  all  ex- 
citement and  on  deck  at  seven-thirty  (I  can  always 
have  coffee  when  I  get  up)  to  see  the  sails  stretched 
and  all;  but  there  was  lots  of  delay  waiting  for  a 
new  steward,  who  said  he  would  come  and  didn't, 
and  lots  of  sending  boats  ashore,  which  I  guess  al- 
ways happens,  so  that  it  was  eleven  or  so  before  we 
glided  round  the  lighthouse  and  off  into  the  Mediter- 
ranean. This  was  one  of  the  most  delightful  mo- 
ments of  my  life !  and  all  that  P.  M.  sailing  as  fast 
as  a  steamer-  the  companions  lying  on  deck,  all  of 
us,  with  cushions  and  rugs,  no  noises,  no  smells,  no 
thumping  as  in  steamers,  —  a  glorious  sunset  grad- 
ually coming  on  as  we  left  the  old  rock  behind,  and 
coasted  along  the  lovely  mountains  towards  Malaga. 
The  moon  was  up  when  we  came  near  the  lights  of 
that  town,  to  anchor  in  the  bay.  Oh !  it  is  perfectly 
delicious,  this  sailing  part.  .  .  . 

Yrs., 
S. 

To  MRS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 
YACHT  "  GITANA,"  MALAGA,  March  W,  1889, 
I  believe,  but  donti  ask  me  the  day  of  the  week. 

MY  DEAR  CAROLINE,  —  I  will  write  you  a  brief 
note  before  breakfast,  partly  to  say  that  Malaga  raisins 
are  very  good  raisins,  and  to  add  that  I  am  having 
the  most  heavenly  time  on  this  sweet  yacht.  Besides 
we  have  just  come  down  from  the  Alhambra  and 
your  favourite  spot,  the  Villa  de  los  Moros,  is  all 
there.  Just  imagine  how  it  was  to  really  see  the 


216    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

whole  thing  again,  —  drive  up  under  the  archway 
from  the  town,  after  dark,  but  in  superb  moonlight, 
up  and  up  among  the  elm  trees,  Nelly  and  Anita  all 
amaze,  for  you  never  can  make  any  body  believe  be- 
forehand how  its  going  to  be  (and  so  much  the 
better),  then  rattling  up  with  a  whoop  of  mules  and 
wheels  to  the  Siete  Suelos,  where  mine  host  comes 
bowing  out,  and  observient  waiters  stand  round,  and 
lead  us  to  rooms  all  ready  with  chimeneas,  which  is 
Moorish  for  fire  in  the  chimney,  and  the  dear  old 
lady,  who  has  been  chambermaid  ever  since  Isabella 
took  the  keys  from  El  Re  Chico,  with  her  head  tied 
up  in  a  pannelo  and  a  shawl  crossed  over  her  bosom, 
runs  for  hot  water.  We  were  all  so  enraptured  that 
we  went  out  and  strolled  about,  up  to  the  gates  of  the 
G'fe,  and  were  only  restrained  by  the  absence  of  a 
permit,  from  rushing  that  night  into  the  palace.  It 
was  rather  cold,  and  we  needed  wraps,  for  Sierra 
Nevada  is  sheeted  with  snow,  but  the  sun  streamed 
in  on  us  in  the  morning. 

Everybody  was  delighted;  and,  oh!  my  dear,  we 
are  a  very  nice  congenial  party.  There  is  n't  a  black 
sheep  amongst  us,  nor  one  in  wolf's  clothing.  Willy 
is  a  dear,  so  very  gloomy  in  speech,  so  sunny  in  fact. 
"  Well ! "  he  says  invariably,  "  now  all  our  troubles 
are  going  to  begin !  "  Whereas  we  have  no  troubles 
whatever,  for  all  runs  smoothly  always.  Nelly  is 
lovely.  .  .  .  Alhambra  or  No-hambra,  B.  Mercer  is 
not  only  ornamental,  but  thoroughly  sweet  and  com- 
panionable. He  attracts  much  attention.  The  beg- 
gars say,  "  Pretty  little  Senor,  give  me  a  penny.  You 
are  so  bonito."  Anita  is  full  of  enthusiasm,  and 
learning,  and  reads  away  to  kill,  in  "  Irving "  and 
"  Murray,"  occasionally  barks  up  the  wrong  tree,  but 
soon  down  again.  As  for  Susan,  that  wily  old  stager 
is  still  overflowing  with  grief  for  the  poor  Moors, 
and  trying  to  contrive  some  practical  plan  for  their 


CHICAGO,  WASHINGTON,  NEW  YORK    217 

return  to  the  Alhambra.  Meanwhile,  it  seems  as  if 
it  might  all  topple  down  some  day,  spite  of  Don 
Senor  Contreras,  who  keeps  propping  up  arches  and 
re-gilding. 

Peach  blossoms  just  out,  the  grounds  full  of  vio- 
lets, but  trees  bare,  no  nightingales ;  that  end  garden 
near  the  Torre  de  la  Vela,  but  scant  as  yet  with 
flowers,  but  entrancing  with  the  wide  view  of  the 
snowy  Sierra.  We  are  off  to-day  for  Africa,  sailing 
three  days,  perhaps,  before  we  stop  again  at  Oran, 
so  lots  of  love  from  us  all. 

SUSAN. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

ON  "GITANA,"  CARTAGENA,  SPAIN, 
Sunday  morning,  March  24,  1889. 

MY  DEAR  LUC.,  —  I  have  now  a  little  tale  to  relate 
which  will  make  your  hair  in  particular  stand  on 
end;  but  it  is  all  happily  over,  and  not  likely  to 
happen  again,  so  you  must  be  sure  not  to  worry.  .  .  . 

On  Tuesday  morning  we  left  by  train  and  returned 
to  Malaga,  getting  a  better  view  of  the  splendid  great 
rocks  in  the  gorge  than  ever  before.  It's  the  finest 
scenery  of  the  sort;  but  the  railroad  tunnels  it,  so 
you  have  to  crane  your  neck,  and  I  have  never  before 
been  on  the  right  side  for  it 

We  reached  Malaga,  drove  to  the  Muelle.  Our 
pretty  boat  awaited  us,  and  we  had  a  calm,  peaceful 
dinner  on  board,  and  a  tranquil  night  in  our  cosy 
cabins.  Mark  well  these  words,  as  I  have  done. 

In  the  morning,  Wednesday,  there  was  great  delay 
getting  off.  Two  tug-boats  tugged  their  utmost  to 
haul  us  from  our  moorings,  and  captains  of  all  these 
crafts  swore  in  Spanish,  while  we  did  our  best  in  our 
tongue,  to  be  even  with  them.  At  last  we  were  off 
about  noon,  and  went  down  to  lunch  in  our  cabin, 


218    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

where  everything  looked  so  pretty,  open  piano,  writ- 
ing-desk,  books,   chequers,    sewing   scattered   ahout. 
No  sooner  did  we  reach  the  deep  sea,  than  a  gale 
began  to  blow,  and,  my  dear,  long  before  night  we 
were  tossed  and  pitched  worse  than  I  ever  saw,  not 
stormy,  you  understand,  but  a  real  gale,  seas  sweep- 
ing over  us !    The  first  warning  was  a  great  slat  when 
the  yacht  was  perfectly  slanting.     Everything  in  the 
cabins  went  sliddering  off  from  one  side  to  the  other 
—  the  whole  decor,  anything  loose,  with  one  whoop 
off  on  the  floor.     Nita  and  Nelly  began  to  be  sick, 
took  to  their  beds,  —  in  fact,  I  was  taking  a  nap  on 
mine  when  it  began.     Suddenly  a  great  sea  poured 
through  our  sky-light,  right  on  Anita  in  her  berth, 
same  time  the  ship  lurched,  and  all  our  trunks  flew 
across  the  cabin.    The  water  in  the  basin  flew  up  in 
the  air.    The  poor  child  gave  one  leap  from  her  bed. 
"  We  are  sinking !  "  she  cried.     This  was  very  silly 
of  her,  but  really  not  surprising.    I  went  up  on  deck, 
but  could  only  poke  my  head  out.    There  were  great 
waves  as  in  pictures,  towering  over  us,  not  breaking, 
the  deck  slanting,  and,  oh !  as  I  looked,  a  great  swoop 
came,  and  I  saw  a  sailor  fall  headlong !    "  Man  over- 
board !  "  was  the  cry ;  and  all  was  confusion,  for  they 
had  to  turn  round,  with  great  yelling  and  hawling 
of  sails,  to  try  and  find  him;  this  made  us  wobble 
worse  than  ever,  a  lurch,  a  sea  of  water  in  the  big 
cabin,  every  mortal  thing  wet  through  and  thrown 
down.     The  lamp  flew  out  of  its  socket  in  our  room 
and  hit  Anita  on  the  head,  glass  clattered,  big  trunks 
jumped  from  their  places.    Just  then  a  steamer  came 
along.     We  put  out  a  signal  of  distress,  viz. :  Union 
Jack  reversed  at  half-mast,  and  she  came  up  to  us. 
This  was  to  show  her  that  a  man  was  overboard. 
Another  great  wave  smashed  our  davits  and,  alas! 
washed  away  our  pretty  boat  which  always  took  us 
te  shore,  like  our  cedar  canoe,  only  bigger.    We  hope, 


CHICAGO,  WASHINGTON,  NEW  YORK    219 

perhaps,  the  lost  sailor  found  it,  and  was  saved;  or 
that  the  steamer  took  him,  for  we  could  not  be  wal- 
lowing thus  in  the  trough  of  the  sea,  so  turned  again 
sadly  and  headed  for  Cape  de  Gat,  because  it  was 
too  bad  to  try  for  Oran  across  on  the  African  shore. 
Such  a  night !  Dark  and  groping,  so  they  dared  not 
go  too  near  land.  However,  they  knew  all  the  time 
exactly  where  we  were,  and  both  Willy  and  the  cap- 
tain were  splendid,  alert,  calm,  possessed.  But  all 
night  we  rolled  and  rolled  in  a  horrid  manner,  not 
going  fast  at  all,  because  not  sails,  or  not  the  right 
direction,  or  something.  Nelly  was  sick,  both  girls 
awfully  frightened.  Billy  Mercer,  with  pink  cheeks, 
but  sick,  curled  up  in  a  corner,  no  use  to  anybody, 
me  going  from  Nelly's  cabin  to  Anita's  to  keep  up 
(?)  their  spirits  —  and  once,  in  doing  so,  I  was  shot 
across  the  salon  upon  a  pile  of  chairs  causing  a  per- 
fectly fascinating  black-and-blue  spot,  still  on  my 
thigh.  It  is  about  four  by  two  inches,  and  the  shape 
of  the  Alhambra  enclosure.  Our  cabin!  All  the 
lockers  flew  open,  one  of  them  contained  four  dozen 
or  so  Chinese  lanterns,  which  spread  themselves  on 
the  floor,  sopping  wet,  mixed  with  the  broken  lamp, 
the  contents  of  my  small  black  box,  all  the  rugs,  and 
three  trunks  of  B.  Mercer's.  Anita  was  in  my  bed, 
as  hers  was  wet,  and  there  was  really  no  place  to  be 
at  all,  for  a  well  person;  finally  I  went  (to  comfort 
her)  to  Nelly's  cabin,  and  sat  on  the  floor  by  her 
wash-stand  with  my  head  in  her  clothes-bag.  Willy 
was  needed  on  deck,  but  he  sweetly  came  down  when- 
ever she  called,  to  reassure  her,  and  really  (they 
said)  there  was  no  danger,  beyond  —  what  you  may 
imagine  on  general  principles.  Well,  we  turned  in 
at  last,  I  and  Anita  in  same  bed,  but  the  thing  rolled 
so  from  side  to  side,  we  were  thrown  against  each 
other  and  then  apart,  to  the  anguish  of  my  scorped 
thigh.  Not  very  much  had  been  done  about  meals, 


220        LETTEKS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

as  the  fire  had  to  be  put  out;  but  Willy  and  I  par- 
took of  tongue  and  salad,  with  some  cheeriness.  The 
big  lamp  was  too  wet  to  burn,  and  only  one  or  two 
not  disabled.  I  put  these  details  on  record,  not  to 
forget,  and  not  to  put  you  in  anguish.  In  the  morn- 
ing, Thursday,  I  woke  after  a  fitful  sleep,  and  found 
we  were  still,  thank  goodness.  Dragged  myself  from 
bed,  feeling  banged  as  if  on  horseback  a  week, 
climbed  to  deck.  We  were  pointed  towards  Carta- 
gena, land  in  sight,  a  grey  not  bad  morning,  but  no 
wind  whatever!  so  a  mild  roll,  roll,  which  I  once 
had  hated,  but  which  now  seemed  perfect  rest.  Our 
rail  is  smashed,  our  best  boat  lost,  the  "life-boat" 
with  a  great  hole  in  its  side,  so  we  seek  this  excellent 
harbour  for  repose  and  repairs.  Nelly  was  by  this 
time  fully  disgusted  with  life  on  the  wave.  That 
evening  she  resolved  a  great  many  things  already 
forgotten;  for  by  the  time,  about  noon,  we  dropped 
anchor  here,  she  had  abandoned  the  plan  of  at  once 
going  on  shore  to  some  vile  hotel,  and  we  are  living 
happily  on  the  yacht,  carpet  taken  up  and  dried  in 
the  sun,  beds  and  rugs,  ditto. 

This,  you  see,  was  Thursday,  and  we  are  still  here. 
A  sweet  Spanish  carpenter,  whose  tools  he  inherits 
from  Tubal  Cain  who  sailed  here  with  Noah,  ac- 
cording to  legend,  is  mending  our  rail,  —  a  tough 
job,  and  the  boat  has  gone  to  his  house  to  be  repaired. 
By  the  way,  just  as  we  were  coming  to,  in  port  here, 
Gitana  smashed  into  the  Nuevo  Roberto,  a  chunky 
tug-boat,  and  broke  off  her  mast,  which  came  tangled 
to  our  rigging.  B.  Mercer  sprang  for  an  axe  which 
hangs  in  our  gangway,  and  a  sailor  with  one  dramatic 
stroke,  clove  the  thing  free  from  us.  Whereupon  an 
old  Spaniard,  deaf  as  a  post,  sat  smoking  all  day  on 
our  deck  demanding  £20  to  repair  his  old  tug.  Wil- 
liam gave  him  £12  finally.  This  was  the  last  of  our 
disasters,  and  we  are  very  happy  here,  —  I  for  writ- 


CHICAGO,  WASHINGTON,  NEW  YOKK     221 

ing  and  rest,  the  others,  because  they  've  had  enough 
sea,  for  the  present!  The  harbour  is  very  pretty; 
and  the  town  a  funny  old  town,  utterly  devoid  of 
tourists  or  modern  life.  We  pass  our  time  in  the 
cabin,  writing,  sewing,  practising,  or,  when  we 
choose,  call  a  boat  and  go  ashore  for  stretching  our 
legs,  and  to  see  the  sleepy  town.  It  is  sweet  just  to 
sit  on  deck  and  watch  the  donkeys,  boats,  people, 
perros  —  the  sun  sets  in  a  wonderful  cleft  of  hills. 
I  regret  my  sketching  things,  but  I  'm  glad  I  have  n't 
got  them,  for  I  am  terrible  behind  in  writing.  There 
is  a  rumour  of  a  steamer  to  Oran;  if  she  comes  in 
from  Marseilles  (a  French  Compagnie  Transatlan- 
tique;  you  know  the  article!)  we  may  cross  without 
waiting  for  the  yacht,  and  get  to  Algiers  by  rail. 
She  was  due  to-day,  but  there  are  no  signs  of  her. 
Nelly  and  I  went  ashore  the  first  day  and  drove  in 
a  ridiculous  iariana,  a  yellow  sort  of  market-cart, 
with  two  wheels  like  a  herdic.  We  bought  some  arti- 
chufas,  and  I  have  bought  a  red  petticoat ;  but  even 
here  pretty  pannelos  and  all  those  things  we  brought 
home  are  done  away  with.  Oh,  but  I  have  got  you 
a  basket  here  you  will  be  pleased  with.  Now  don't 
worry;  for  Nelly  is  so  scared  she  won't  go  anywhere 
for  more  than  a  day  out,  and  we  shall  take  steamers 
for  all  long  trips.  On  the  whole,  I  am  glad  of  the 
experience  —  only  seeing  the  man  go  over  was  ter- 
rible. We  shall  get  no  letters  till  Malta.  Always 
with  much  love. 

SUSIE. 

Favourable  thoughts  of  the  piazza  at  Matunuck 
while  we  were  tossing  in  that  trough. 


222    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

To  Miss  LUCEETIA  P.  HALE 

OFF  LEGHORN,  May  2,  1889. 

DEAR  LUC.,  —  Strange  things  have  happened  since 
I  last  touched  pen.  We  have  done  Rome,  Florence, 
Pisa,  Leghorn,  all  in  five  days. 

I  loathed,  loathe,  and  shall  loathe  Rome,  and  have 
always  hoped  to  escape  it,  even  on  this  expedition. 
It  was,  therefore,  with  great  gloom  that  I  listened 
to,  and  assisted  William  in  his  admirable  plan  for 
a  short  trip,  leaving  the  yacht  at  Naples,  and  swoop- 
ing back  to  it  here.  We  have  put  his  plan  through 
with  great  success,  and  now  I  feel  great  satisfaction 
that  I  have  done  Rome  for  good  and  all.  As  we 
approached  I  peered  (in  imagination)  down  into  it, 
like  Dante,  or  perhaps  more  like  Orpheus,  shading 
his  hand.  .  .  . 

We  left  Oitana  with  only  hand-things  last  Satur- 
day at  eight,  rowed  ashore,  to  station  and  had  pretty 
ride  all  morning  past  Capua  and  away  from  Vesu- 
vius, to  Rome,  —  drove  to  Hotel  Bristol,  through 
great  modern,  dreary  streets.  We  had  grabbed  mezzo 
polio  and  little  flasks  of  wine,  so  did  n't  have  to  stop 
to  eat,  but  jumped  into  open  carriages,  Willy  with 
Anita  and  me,  because  he  wanted  to  tell  us  things, 
B.  Mercer  with  Nelly,  behind.  We  saw  all  the  old 
Roman  things  (see  Stoddard's  lectures)  *Forum, 
Column  of  Trajan,  Palace  of  Caesars,  *  Coliseum 
(I  mark  with'  an  asterisk  (as  in  Baedeker)  the  things 
I  think  well  of)  *Borghese  Gardens,  the  *Pincio. 
All  very  interesting,  nothing  against  them,  of  course ; 
it  is  the  sacrilege  of  turning  this  old  place  into  a 
frivolous  den  of  American  spinsters  that  irritates  me. 
Funny  to  see  how  the  Pincio  really  does  look,  it  has 
been  so  described  in  novels  —  absolutely  different, 
of  course,  and  very  charming.  We  kept  meeting  the 
King,  Queen,  and  Prince  of  Naples  (their  heir). 


CHICAGO,  WASHINGTON,  NEW  YORK    223 

Don't  you  know  they  were  just  married,  Humbert 
and  Margherita,  when  we  passed  through  Milan? 
The  Prince  is  a  nice-looking  young  man,  with  the 
Hapsburg  mouth  and  chin.  I  haven't  the  suitable 
genealogical  tables  to  find  out  how  h'e  comes  by  them. 
At  the  hotel,  a  bare,  hideous,  modern  place,  were  Ned 
Everett  (son  of  Helen)  and  Freddy  Allen  of  Arthurs 
class.  These  dined  with  us,  and  Ned,  wh'o  is  amus- 
ing, told  me  of  seeing  Papa  at  Washington  March  4, 
or  thereabouts.  Next  day,  Sunday,  everything  was 
shut  in  the  way  of  galleries,  which  Willy  either  had 
not,  or  had  counted  upon  (he  hates  them,  although 
an  admirable  connoisseur  and  judge  of  pictures). 
We  took  carriage  and  drove  round  seeing  things, 
Anita,  Nelly  and  I ;  at  the  Capitoline  Hill  where  we 
were  to  see  the  "  Dying  Gladiator,"  etc.,  I  made  a 
misstep  and  fell  out  of  the  carriage  on  my  side. 
Great  anguish,  and  I  thought  I  was  dead,  but  it 
proved  the  contrary,  I  was  only  a  little  faint.  This, 
however,  put  an  end  to  my  career  for  that  day.  I  'm 
all  right  now.  I  just  drove  with  them  to  see  Castle 
St.  Angelo  and  outside  of  St.  Peter's,  and  then  left 
them  to  explore  the  inside,  while  I  went  home.  Slept 
through  the  P.  M.  and  rubbed  leg  with  alcohol.  Thus 
ends  my  career  in  Rome ;  I  am  glad  to  see  that  much 
and  no  more  of  it. 

Monday  off  again  eight-thirty  for  Florence.  .  .  . 
Arrived  about  three;  at  the  hotel  door  was  Hartog, 
the  courier !  This  we  expected  for  he  is  now  conduct- 
ing famille  Beat.  .  .  .  He  at  once  (asi  a  friend) 
took  us  in  his  grip,  evidently  annoyed  to  find  we  do 
so  well  without  him.  After  all  it  was  nice  to  see  him, 
and  like  the  Catholic  religion,  we  fell  back  with  relief 
into  his  arms  (supply  the  links  yourself  in  this  com- 
parison). It  was  perfectly  enchanting  at  Florence. 
.  .  .  Our  rooms  were  on  the  Lung  Arno,  which  runs, 
you  know,  parallel  to  the  river,  and  a  great  dam  below 


224    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

us  made  a  brawling  noise.  All  the  well-known 
bridges  were  there,  Ponte  Vecchio,  etc.,  —  and  lovely 
sky  with  domes  against  it.  Our  quarters  large  and 
luxurious.  As  before  we  went  out  at  once,  but  on 
foot  with  William  to  see  sights,  the  Lanzi  loggie, 
Bargello,  Duomo,  lots  of  things,  as  in  a  dream,  "  Per- 
seus "  by  B.  Cellini,  into  which  he  threw  his  pots  and 
pans,  so  familiar.  .  .  . 

Tuesday.  —  Betimes  to  the  Umzi  Gallery,  and  our 
whole  minds  given  to  Botticelli,  Raphael,  etc.  Splen- 
did gallery,  saw  all  my  old  friends  of  Minot's  photo- 
graphs. It's  very  singular  the  way  you  go  from 
Uffizi  to  Pitti  by  a  covered  way  all  across  the  river 
and  the  town,  as  if  you  might  go  all  along  Boylston 
Street,  cross  it,  and  through  the  "  Tunker's "  house 
to  get  to  Carry  Weld's,  without  going  outdoors.  Just 
as  we  were  approaching  this  passage,  Anita  saw 
Philip  turning  into  it.  We  leaped  on  him,  and  his 
Theodore  Butler.  Was  not  this  fine!  —  for  I  have 
had  none  of  his  letters  telling  his  plans,  which'  letters 
are  getting  on  a  fine  bloom  at  Barings  according  to 
custom,  before  sending;  they  joined  us  for  the  Pitti, 
and  Philip  showed  me  what  to  admire,  but  my  mind 
was  rather  turned  from  the  pictures,  as  you  may 
suppose.  Met  also  Russell  Sullivan,  very  nice  and 
cordial,  but  tore  ourselves  away  from  him.  It  was 
lunch  time,  and  Phil,  and  Butler  came  to  lunch  with 
us  in  our  salon,  then  left  to  return  in  evening.  Anita 
and  I  took  a  little  carriage,  and  saw  lots  of  places. 
She  was  crammed  with  Hare's  "  Florence,"  which  is 
excellent,  and  I  know  pretty  well  about  the  things. 
We  had  a  fine  time  at  San  Marco,  —  all  about  Savona- 
rola and  Fra  Angelico,  —  saw  a  sweet  old  cat  in  Ghir- 
landajo's  "  Last  Supper,"  a  fine  fresco  —  saw  the 
Luca  della  Robbia's  singing  boys  (bas-reliefs)  and 
many  things,  of  course,  omitting  many;  then  drove 
up  to  top  of  San  Miniato,  and  came  down,  something 


CHICAGO,  WASHINGTON,  NEW  YOKK    225 

like  Pincio.  I  will  explain  all  these  things  by  mouth 
if  you  want  to  hear.  From  San  Miniato  is  a  superb 
view  of  Florence,  which  is  certainly  a  lovely  town. 
The  dome  of  Bmnelleschi  is  very  fine,  between  you 
and  me  the  Cathedral  it  belongs  to  is  hideous,  all 
variegated  of  dark  and  light  marbles  without  any 
effect,  like  a  Chinese  inlaid  puzzle.  Ponte  Vecchio 
is  delightful,  —  a  great  bridge,  but  all  little  shops 
like  the  Palais  Eoyal,  —  the  Goldsmiths,  you  know, 
like  B.  Cellini.  Anita  and  I  walked  along  here,  car- 
riage following,  to  look  at  shop  windows,  —  came 
upon  Willy  and  Nelly,  who  were  buying  all  Florence, 
—  they  told  us  to  keep  our  carriage  and  go  to  Doney's 
restaurant  and  get  ice-cream  and  buy  candy,  which 
we  did  —  met  Isabella  Curtis  at  a  street  corner  who 
exclaimed,  "  Why  Sue !  I  thought  of  course  you  were 
a  Marchesa!"  .  .  . 

"  How  did  you  get  here  ? "  she  cried.  "  Why,  I  am 
yachting,"  said  I.  "  It  looks  like  it,"  said  she,  glanc- 
ing at  Anita,  and  the  carriage  seat  heaped  with 
flowers,  shopping,  candy;  I  was  sorry  to  have  so 
brief  a  view  of  her,  for  it 's  long  since  I  Ve  seen  a 
contemporary!  .  .  .  All  these  things  were  very  ex- 
citing; the  Welds  also  met  acquaintances,  and,  as 
hitherto  we  have  led  a  charmed  sort  of  life  apart 
from  our  kind,  as  it  were,  this  return  to  humanity 
was  refreshing.  So  Wednesday,  May  1,  which  was 
yesterday,  Hartog  brought  us  off  to  Pisa,  where  we 
stopped  from  eleven  to  three,  —  saw  the  lovely  pulpit 
in  the  baptistry,  went  to  the  top  (!)  of  the  leaning 
tower,  and  through  the  far-famed  Campo  Santo  —  all 
reminding  me  of  Bologna.  It  is  but  twenty  minutes 
rail  to  Leghorn  and  here  was  the  yacht,  our  row-boat, 
sailors  and  captain,  just  rowing  ashore,  by  chance, 
to  seek  us,  having  come  in,  only  the  night  before. 
We  came  on  board,  always  in  great  joy  to  revisit  our 
cosy  quarters,  and  our  things,  for  this  three-days-in- 


226    LETTEES  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

a-handbag  business  has  its  drawbacks  —  and  off  be- 
fore breakfast  for  Nice,  with  a  very  light  wind. 

Our  rooms  are  written  for  in  Paris  for  the  eighth, 
my  dear,  and  when  you  receive  this  I  shall  be  buried 
in  the  Bon  Marche.  We  sail  the  eighteenth,  unless 
there's  some  slip  about  the  staterooms,  or  delay  — 
but  I  hope  to  be  at  the  Thorndike  in  less  than  four 
weeks ! ! !  My !  it  will  be  nice.  I  now  write  to  Thorn- 
dike  to  bespeak  my  room !  .  .  . 

YOUE  SUSE. 


To  Miss  LTJCEETIA  P.  HALE 

MATUNUCK,  KHODE  ISLAND,  June  8, 1889. 

DEAE  LUC.,  —  I  feel  constrained  to  refresh  myself 
by  pausing  to  write  this.  .  .  . 

Time  driveth  onward  fast  and  Louise,  Emily,  and 
I  dream  of  nothing  but  soap  and  scrubbing  brushes. 
It  has  been  pretty  up-hill  work.  Emily  so  cross,  even 
ugly  at  times,  that  I  went  to  bed  one  night  sure  that 
I  must  give  her  up.  Not  to  dwell  on  the  subject,  she 
was  so  mad  because  I  chose  to  have  the  kitchen 
cleaned  before  the  red  parlour,  that  she  retired  to  her 
attic  tent  and  sulked,  leaving  me  and  Louise  to 
wrestle  with  the  kitchen  and  Estella,  and  gave  me  no 
dinner,  but  a  small  piece  of  boiled  flounder  and  no 
pudding.  This,  of  course,  was  comic,  but  fatiguing. 
Joe  and  Emily  at  this  period  could  not  communicate, 
so  I  had  to  come  out  of  my  bed  between  five-thirty 
and  six  (his  only  hour)  to  tell  him  each  morning  to 
bring  up  her  wood  and  water.  For  though  Peter 
Larkin  came  and  coupled  the  sachem  and  turned 
on  the  ram,  this  ceased  to  work  the  minute  his  back 
was  turned.  So  as  soon  as  the  women  had  used  the 
water  he  had  poured  into  the  tank,  they  (of  course 
not  telling  me  the  water  did  n't  run)  began  to  clamour 
for  more,  and  would  n't  "  haul "  themselves.  Louise, 


CHICAGO,  WASHINGTON,  NEW  YORK     227 

Emily,  and  Estella  having  eaten  up  by  Wednesday 
all  the  food  I  had  planned  for  the  week  (old  Jane 
never  ate,  you  remember),  I  walked  down  to  the 
beach  for  fish  and  came  back  bringing  a  stick  of 
buckeys,  twelve,  and  one  fell  off  on  the  way  up,  so 
there  were  eleven.  Next  day  the  "  gang  "  sent  me  up 
two  flounders,  which  she  cooked  as  above.  All  the 
men  are  busy  in  the  fields  snatching  greedily  the 
sunshine,  after  four  weeks  of  steady  rain.  Elisha 
absorbed  by  preparing  for  the  Weedens.  Regular 
post-carrier  down  with  the  German  measles,  and  his 
brother  driving  the  mail,  who  "didn't  know,"  etc. 
All  the  wood  that  is  not  in  the  cellar  is  wet,  and  it 
was  so  dark  in  the  cellar  that  Emily  "  could  n't  see " 
to  go  down  there,  and  Joe  would  n't.  Franklin  had 
the  key  to  the  cellar-way,  and  when  he  came  on  Tues- 
day, hope  revived.  But  he  had  forgotten  the  key, 
so  we  had  to  pry  up  the  staple,  after  waiting  three 
days,  which  we  might  have  done  at  first.  It  rained 
so,  out  of  the  question  to  sit  outdoors,  and  whole 
house  so  filthy,  difficult  to  find  a  place  inside. 

There;  I  don't  think  of  anything  more,  adverse, 
for  the  moment,  so  I  will  hasten  to  turn  the  picture. 
Emily,  of  herself,  "  got  good  "  and  was  yesterday  all 
smiles  and  johnny  cake.  Mrs.  Bradley  brought  a 
voluntary  pair  of  spring  chickens,  which  I  am  eating, 
delightfully  broiled.  Jeffrey  Potter  of  himself  came 
and  mowed  the  lawn.  The  sun,  of  himself,  came  out. 
The  ram  of  itself  began  to  run  one  midnight,  and 
Joe  of  himself  took  up  the  stair  carpet,  and  brought 
guinea-hen's  eggs.  Suddenly  this  morning,  two  blue- 
fish,  unsolicited,  walked  up  the  hill.  And  really 
much  is  accomplished.  The  whole  house  except  the 
attic  story  shining  clean,  and  redolent  of  soap, — 
much  cleaner,  to  tell  the  truth,  than  Jane  used  to  do 
it,  between  the  drops,  probably  on  account  of  the  less 
friction.  That  Pons  Asinorum  the  kitchen  closet, 


228    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

is  crossed.  All  the  old  things  thrown  away,  all  the 
new  spices  and  meals  put  up  in  neat  tins  and  pots. 
Even  Emily  is  radiant  with  its  state.  (It  was  in  an 
unusually  horrid  condition  by  reason  of  a  bottle  of 
bluing,  which  poor  old  Nelly  must  have  knocked 
down,  which  had  spattered  indigo  over  every  bowl, 
plate,  dish,  shelf,  wall,  floor.  This  was  why  I  wanted 
that  cleaned  first,  and  we  have  been  less  blue  all  round 
since.) 

Thus  I  devoted  myself  yesterday,  1.  To  preparing 
my  part  of  the  house  for  the  Weedens.  The  big 
parlour  is  sweet  with  the  Algerine,  etc.,  things,  and 
one  or  two  slight  changes  of  arrangement.  2.  Then, 
as  above,  to  handling  myself  every  article  in  the 
kitchen-closet,  opening  the  "stores"  and  filling  the 
pots  and  jugs  therewith.  Then  to  Weedens'  with  my 
silver  and  linen  to  set  their  table  for  their  first  meal. 
Then  to  my  broiled  chicken,  and  then  to  make  a  rich 
Parisian  toilette,  and  seat  myself  with  studied  ele- 
gance to  receive  their  first  visit,  should  they  come 
up.  'Twas  in  the  parlour  doorway  opening  on  the 
west  piazza,  at  my  little  oval  table,  in  my  favourite 
rock-chair.  I  had  on  my  black  net  shirt,  and  new 
red  waist,  with  silver  Constantine  pins.  Hemmed 
new  Paris  napkins  as  I  sat,  alternating  with  the 
pages  of  my  French  "  Virgil,"  —  while  on  the  table 
was  my  Sicilian  orange  h'd'k'f.  Jander  was  on  the 
window-seat  and  the  scent  of  Jeffrey's  hay  floated  in 
across  his  nose  (Jander's). 

They  didn't  come!  that  is  Mackart  didn't,  and 
Leila  and  twins  remain  in  Prov.  —  but  Eaymer  and 
Jamie  came  trooping  up  with  the  little  girls, — 'and 
later  Mr.  W.  came  and  passed  a  long,  agreeable  hour, 
after  which  I  went  down  and  took  tea  and  strawber- 
ries with  them.  I  think  my  artistic  effect  was  lost 
on  these  spectators,  but  after  all  'twas  myself  I 
sought  to  please.  .  .  c 


CHICAGO,  WASHINGTON,  NEW  YOEK    229 

I  take  leave  of  you  very  happy  and  with'  prospects 
of  a  calmer  week.  .  .  . 

SUSE. 


To  Miss  LTJCRETIA  P.  HALE 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  June  &£,  1889. 

DEAE  LTJC., —  Hoped  to  write  you  a  great  letter, 
but  the  thing  has  begun,  and  I  have  not  a  moment 
to  myself.  It  is  now  just  short  of  mail  time. 

But  everything  is  going  on  sweetly.  I  wish  the 
calm  of  a  small  family  could  be  kept  along  with  the 
delights  of  a  large  one!  Robert  arrived  Saturday 
P.M.  by  the  new  train  (two  o'clock  from  Boston), 
which  works  extremely  well,  as  people  get  themselves 
all  steadied  in  time  for  an  excellent  six-thirty  eve- 
ning meal  (not  tea,  because  there  is  not  any). 

I  will  describe  one  day  as  a  pattern  of  our  present 
state,  by  which  you  will  see  that  for  a  family  of  three 
persons,  my  staff  of  three  servants,  with  the  outside 
addition  of  Joe,  Louise,  Franklin,  Elisha,  Albert 
Sebastian,  and  Estella,  is  ample.  At  five-thirty, 
Emily  softly  glides  down-stairs,  and  I  hear  the  gentle 
stir  of  the  poker,  and  the  softly  falling  coal-scuttle. 
I  turn  to  my  slumbers,  secure  in  the  prospect  of  a 
good  breakfast.  Perchance  Eranklin  is  stealthily 
splitting  a  kindling,  or  Joe  breathlessly  dropping  ice 
into  the  new  refrigerator. 

At  six-thirty  precisely,  Katy  trips  over  the  stairs, 
and  soon  the  willing  ram  fills  her  pails.  She  brings 
one  to  Anne's  door,  and  gently  taps  her  awake. 
Now  is  the  time  for  me  to  rise.  I  find  in  Fullum's 
room  my  tub,  towels  and  bath-gown,  all  as  I  wish,  — 
and,  slipping  on  my  "  Billy  Mercer,"  I  run  up-stairs 
to  wake  Robert,  and  hold  our  morning  chat.  Com- 
ing back  to  my  own  bath  I  call  to  Emily  out  of  win- 
dow, "  You  may  let  up  the  kittens,  now,"  and  she 


230    LETTEES  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

throws  wide  the  cellar-door,  whereon  Theodore  and 
Emma  rush  out  and  come  up  to  join  my  bath.  ( They 
are  rather  unworthy,  and  I  am  very  doubtful  about 
keeping  them;  but  wholly  hind-house  cats,  so  don't 
trouble  the  family  at  all.)  Now  Nelly,  the  stern 
little  sister  of  Katy,  passes  down  to  the  kitchen, 
leading  Estella,  whom  she  has  clothed  the  while.  At 
seven  sharp,  I  descend  to  the  front  of  the  house,  which 
I  find  well  aired,  doors  open,  big  parlour  dusted, 
flowers  fresh,  and  Katy  just  bringing  in  breakfast, 
which  we  have  in  the  red  room.  Nelly  goes  up  to 
tell  Miss  Bursley  breakfast  is  ready.  Robert  appears, 
and  we  have  a  charming  little  meal,  with  great  roses 
on  the  table,  sent  by  Cornelia.  After  breakfast,  the 
Gospel  according  to  Edgeworth,  and  then  I  go  to  my 
writing,  much  curtailed  by  chat,  however;  then  (and 
not  before,  you  observe),  I  visit  the  kitchen  and  lay 
out  the  food  of  the  day  with  the  cook.  Yesterday 
being  Sunday,  Robert  did  a  "  Sybarite !  "  I  clothed 
myself  in  my  Paris  light  mousse-coloured  gown; 
A  Tine  got  herself  together,  and  we  went  down  to 
church;  a  lovely  day,  rather  cold.  Leila  and  twins 
are  just  arrived.  They  came  up  after  church,  in 
fact,  were  here  all  day.  We  walked  to  Tuckers  in 
p.  M.  —  laurel  superb,  going  fast.  Then  coming  back 
at  six-thirty,  Emily  had  all  ready,  and  Katy  her  part 
as  well,  bluefish,  johnny  cakes,  and  jelly  cake,  and 
we  had  both  houses  fully  represented  on  the  piazza, 
with  many  wraps,  all  evening.  But  I  must  stop. 
Love  to  your  hostesses. 

To  EDWARD  E.  HALE,  JR. 

453  MARLBORO  STREET,  BOSTON, 

November  15,  1889. 

DEAR  EDWARD,  —  I  have  got  my  list  pretty  much 
made  out.     Perhaps  I  will  send  it  to  you  later.     I 


CHICAGO,  WASHINGTON,  NEW  YORK    231 

want  to  know  whom  you  think  it  would  be  well  to 
begin  with,  for  the  very  first  go  off,  you  know  I  am 
starting  with  the  present,  to  work  back.  Of  course 
I  want  my  first  gun  to  be  taking,  and  attract  the 
attention  of  these  ten  foolish  young  virgins.  I  want 
to  read  (and  condense)  therefore,  some  good  (but 
not  too  familiar)  recent  novel,  or  other  prose,  but 
entertaining,  —  and  read  a  little  poem.  What  do  you 
think  of  George  Meredith's  "  Richard  Feveral,"  and 
if  so,  how  can  I  have  any  life  of  him  to  give  in  brief 
words?  Then  I  thought  a  poem  of  Austin  Dobson. 
If  so,  what  life  of  him?  I  have  reserved  two  days 
for  these  modern  living  people,  before  coming  to 
Dickens  and  Tennyson.  Tell  me  what  you  think. 
Would  you  have  Stevenson  for  one,  instead  of  Mere- 
dith, or  besides  him?  It  goes  pretty  smooth  after 
that;  I  am  only  making  the  lists  now  in  order  to 
have  some  printed,  after  which  I  shall  employ  myself 
in  getting  together  all  the  lives  of  the  people,  and 
selecting  what  to  read.  "Minto"  is  charming;  I 
have  bought  it. 

Andrew  Lang  would  be  good,  wouldn't  he,  for 
one  of  my  moderns? 

We  are  having  a  wallowing  time  here.  The  house 
is  lovely  really  in  the  country,  with  open  views  over 
"Charlesgate  East"  to  the  park.  I  made  a  water- 
colour  sketch  yesterday  from  the  open  window.  .  .  . 

Amelia  B.  Edwards  is  really  great.  She  is  just 
as  easy  and  simple  with  the  audience  as  I  am  at 
Matunuck,  and  she  knows  lots.  The  Boston  women 
are  all  there  trying  to  look  as  if  they  knew  the  same 
things.  .  .  . 


232    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

To  Miss  LUCKETIA  P.  HALE 

1214  EIGHTEENTH  STREET,  WASHINGTON,  D.  C., 
Tuesday,  January  H,  1890. 

DEAB  LUC.,  —  I  will  now  endeavour  to  write  you 
a  great  long  letter,  for  it  can't  be  known  when  I  shall 
have  time  for  another,  as  my  classes  are  coming  on 
after  this  thick  and  fast.  I'm  to  have  a  grown-up 
one,  on  between  days,  which  will  make  me  busy 
nearly  every  morning,  but  good  for  my  pocket  But 
I  will  begin  with  this  dinner  of  last  night  to  get  it 
off  my  mind  while  fresh,  and  then  revert  to  yours 
received  yesterday,  and  other  matters  of  high 
interest.  .  .  . 

Well,  you  see,  long  ago,  came  a  great  card  as  big 
as  a  house  inviting  me  to  this  dinner.  I  take  it  as 
very  nice  of  the  Mortons  to  at  once  pay  me  the  at- 
tention, puts  things  on  a  pleasant  footing;  and  this 
particular  dinner,  as  you  know,  for  the  Judges,  is 
of  all  others  the  most  desirable  for  grandness  (though, 
likely,  the  most  dull).  Even  the  mugwump  residue 
of  the  Cleveland  dynasty  must  needs  regard  it  as 
great,  because  all  these  judges  are  the  same  as  last 
year,  when  Tuckermans,  Wards,  and  the  like  were 
proud  to  be  present  to  meet  them.  So  every  one  ex- 
claimed, "  You !  dine  with  the  judges !  How  splen- 
did!" My  nice  Mrs.  Cummings  (lives  with  Blatch- 
fords,  sister  of  Sam  Wells  and  Kate  Gannett),  cried, 
"  You  dine  at  the  V.-P.'s  to-night.  Well,  wear  the 
very  best  gown  you  ever  had  in  your  life !  "  Great 
anxiety  and  interest  was  thus  shown  in  the  event  by 
all  my  Job's  comforters  here.  Now  Ruth  (Hoar) 
in  her  niceness,  without  knowing  this,  had  asked 
Papa  and  me  to  go  round  with  her,  same  P.  M.,  yester- 
day, to  call  on  all  these  same  people,  "  Judges'  day," 
Monday,  without  knowing  I  was  to  dine  with  them. 
In  the  carriage  it  came  out.  "  You  going ! "  "  You 


SUSAX  HALE,  ABOUT  1865 


CHICAGO,  WASHINGTON,  NEW  YORK    233 

going ! "  we  both  said,  and  embraced ;  this  was  nice 
for  me,  for  at  their  teas,  I  saw  all  these  women,  so 
when  we  met  at  the  dinner  they  were  all  quite  pleased 
to  see  me,  and  ran  and  got  their  husbands  to  show 
them  to  me.  .  .  . 

In  great  fear  and  trembling  I  climbed  into  my 
long-tailed  gown,  the  white  trimmed  with  Algiers 
stripes.  Do  tell  Miss  Bolger  it  fits  like  a  glove,  and 
amazed  everybody  with  its  suitableness  —  and  good 
effect.  Though  the  Senators'  wives  sate  behind  great 
diamond  crescents  in  red  velvet  gowns,  .  .  .  Ruth 
had  a  very  pretty  white  satin  and  sort  of  yellowish 
brocade  dinner  gown.  Judge  Field  of  California 
was  to  take  me  out,  and  he  proved  very  gallant,  talka- 
tive and  agreeable,  rather  ponderous  and  would-be- 
judicial,  in  manner.  But  Mr.  Senator  Hoar  was  on 
the  other  side,  of  course,  friendly  and  most  jolly,  and 

Senator  Evarts    Mrs.  Sands    Bancroft  Davis 


Mrs. 

~°Hoar 

Senator  Lamar 

Judge 

"Brewer 

Mrs.  Blatchford 

Mre. 

°Edmunds 

Judge  Harlan 

Judge 

°Gray 

Mrs.  Morrill 

Mrs. 

oMiller 
oVice-President       Mrs.  Morton 

Judge  Blatchford 

Mrs. 

oFuller 

Senator  Edmunds 

Judge 

oMiller 

Mrs.  Field 

Mrs. 

oBrewer 

Justice  Fuller 

Justice 

oField 

Mrs.  Lamar 

Me 

Senator  Morrill 

Senator  Hoar    Mrs.  Berdan    Mrs.  Bancroft  Davis 

Dinner  at  the  Vice-President's  for  the  Bench,  some 
Senators,  and  Myself 

our  end  was  altogether  the  lively  one,  for  most  of 
these  great  men  prefer,  I  believe,  to  slumber  on  the 
lea  like  the  pimpernel,  as  they  dine,  and  their  wives, 
in  general,  are  not  the  sort  to  rouse  them.  .  .  . 
The  dining-room  at  the  Y.-P.'s  is  newly  built  on 


234    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

by  them  to  their  gorgeous  house,  and  is  a  handsome, 
vaulted  room,  the  table  looked  lovely,  though  simply 
adorned  with  a  mound  of  ferns,  and  the  end  heaps 
of  bright  roses.  Endless  menu,  of  course,  and  plenty 
of  champagne.  The  Brewers  are  the  newest  comers, 
just  appointed.  She  is  a  pretty,  quiet,  little  woman. 

Much  love  from 

SUSAN. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

1214  18-TH  STREET,  WASHINGTON,  D.  C. 
10:30  A.  M.,  Tuesday,  January  28,  1890. 

DEAR  LUC., —  .  .  .  Had  a  nice  time  receiving 
with  Anna  Dawes  Thursday,  p.  M.  She  is  a  charm- 
ing hostess,  and  attacks  her  "  tea  "  just  as  we  should, 
not  merely  standing  (as  many  here  do)  like  a  graven 
image  at  her  door  with  pump-handle  attachment. 
Result  is,  people  love  to  go  there,  and  swarms  poured 
in,  many  really  agreeable,  and  of  whom  I  could  tell 
great  yarns,  —  so  odd  are  the  threads  which  keep 
coming  up  here  to  tie  these  folks  to  our  family  or 
my  old  haunts.  .  .  . 

The  Senator  himself  came  down  on  purpose  to 
meet  me,  very  agreeable. 

-From  there  I  went  to  a  great  reception  at  Mrs. 
Leiter's,  in  her  superb  house  (built  by  Mr.  Elaine). 
Here  were  swarms,  again,  of  people  more  swell,  in 
their  own  estimation,  than  some  of  the  Dawes  crowd 
(though  these  were  pretty  fine).  Friday  evening  was 
the  great  Wanamaker  reception.  I  wore  my  yellow 
lace  gown,  and  really  amused  myself,  standing  with 
Admiral  and  Mrs.  Crosby  near  the  entrance,  who  told 
me  who  was  worth  knowing  of  the  eleven  hundred 
announced  guests,  and  presented  me  to  some.  My 
dear  sweet  Mrs.  Edmunds  was  also  there,  and  Mrs. 
Davis,  whom  I  conceive  to  be  Mrs.  Cabot  Lodge's 


CHICAGO,  WASHINGTON,  NEW  YOEK    235 

sister-in-law  or  something  of  the  sort  (not  Mrs.  Ban- 
croft D.),  was  particularly  nice  to  me.  It  was  a 
tremendous  jam,  though  the  house,  same  as  the  Sec. 
Whitneys  had  last  year,  is  huge,  with  an  added  ball- 
room, where  hired  musicians  were  bawling,  but  no- 
body paid  the  slightest  attention.  Pa  Wanamaker 
was  there.  I  like  him,  but  had  no  chance  to  speak 
about  the  Matunuck  P.  O.  He  has  no  wine  ever  at 
his  sprees,  which  rather  pleases  the  public,  as  at  the 
Whitney's,  same  place,  too  much  champagne  was 
given,  so  that  the  guests  were  apt  to  be  notoriously 
affected  by  it.  The  girls  Wanamaker  and  Morgan 
were  very  nice  to  me,  and  so  was  Mrs.  That  was  my 
great  outburst  for  last  week,  and  minor  ones  must 
be  omitted.  .  .  . 

Yrs, 

SuSE. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

ST.  Louis  (  !  )  MISSOURI,  Sunday, 

March  9,  1890. 
(10  o'clock  with  you,  9  here.) 

DEAR  LUC.,  —  I  am  writing  in  bed !  Not  from  in- 
capacity, but  because  my  trunks  are  not  yet  here, 
on  account  of  late  arrival  last  evening.  So  Mrs.  C. 
conceived  it  well  for  me  to  take  the  course  of  not 
getting  up ;  and  I  have  just  finished  a  most  delicious 
breakfast,  great  rose  on  a  tray  with  coffee,  fish-balls, 
orange,  etc.,  and  now  can't  restrain  myself  from  de- 
scribing my  truly  lovely  surroundings. 

The  house  is  away  out  of  town,  as  you  said ;  quite 
analogous  to  the  Bursleys'  new  situation,  in  all  re- 
spects I  should  think,  only  that  it  is  far  more  country 
here  than  they  are,  more  like  Edward's  house  in 
Worcester  when  he  first  went  there,  surrounded  by 
open  fields  and  sky.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  G.  O.  C.  met  me 
at  the  station  7 : 30  p.  M.  last  evening,  and  I  was 


236    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

drawn  in  their  comfortable  carriage  away  across  an 
immense  town,  long,  straight  streets  with  cable-cars 
in  them,  and  very  dark  and  dingy.  There  is  an  im- 
mense deep  cut  for  the  railroad  which  divides  the 
town  in  two,  and  over  this  are  great  distinguished 
bridges  sparkling  with  electric  lights.  We  crossed 
one  of  these  and  then  came  away  up  into  the  suburbs, 
but  not  up  any  hill  because  it  is  all  flat  as  a  pan- 
cake. .  .  . 

For  here  I  will  go  back  to  the  trip  to  emphasise 
the  fact  that  I  was  tired,  though  it  was  a  fairly  com- 
fortable one.  I  got  off  from  W.  in  marvellous  peace. 
Edes  famille  most  affectionate,  had  to  sit  round  hold- 
ing their  hands  for  an  hour  after  lunch,  nothing  else 
to  do  as  baggage  had  gone,  and  it  seemed  proper, 
also.  They  have  been  marvellous  good  to  me,  and 
strange  to  say,  I  have  come  to  condone  their  faults, 
and  much  attached  to  their  merits,  although  I  will 
describe  their  faults  at  Matunuck.  Took  horse,  I 
mean  steam,  at  three-thirty,  in  a  parlour  car,  very 
comfortable,  quite  solitary.  At  Harrisburg,  we 
climbed  out  of  this  and  into  our  sleeper,  no  difficulty, 
just  across  the  track;  this  was  after  dark,  so  no  im- 
pression could  be  got  of  the  place.  In  fact,  I  am 
much  like  Nellie  Ely  in  this  respect,  having  seen  but 
little  of  the  country  I  passed  through  this  time.  I 
proceeded  at  once  to  the  dining-car,  and  had  a  very 
good  meal,  everything  on  the  menu  you  like,  pay  one 
dollar,  whether  you  eat  it  or  not.  There  was  some 
river  outside,  and  I  turned  to  look  at  it.  "  Oh, 
what 's  that ! "  I  exclaimed,  meaning  what  sheet  of 
water.  "That's  the  moon,"  said  the  gentleman  op- 
posite, as  to  one  as  yet  unfamiliar  with  the  heavenly 
bodies  of  the  locality.  When  I  praised  the  effect  on 
the  water,  he  said,  "Yes,  that  moon-scene  is  nice." 
I  saw  no  more  of  him.  And  then  came  the  bed  busi- 
ness, too  hot,  too  cold,  thump ty-thump,  jag-dy-jag, 


CHICAGO,  WASHINGTON  NEW  YORK     237 

man  snoring  opposite,  stopping  the  minute  you  get 
used  to  going,  going  the  minute  you  are  resigned  to 
stop.  At  Pittsburg,  2  A.  M.,  the  porter  came  and  ad- 
vised me  in  a  friendly  manner  to  sit  up  and  look  at 
it,  and  it  was  weird  and  wonderful,  great  blazing 
lights  of  natural  gas,  and  chimneys  glowing,  besides 
electric  dotted  up  a  great  hill.  'Twas  here  we 
changed  the  time,  and  became  one  o'clock  when  it 
was  two. 

Now  you  know,  and  don't  need  to  be  told,  the  odi- 
ous part  is  getting  up  in  the  morning,  with  the  day 
before  you  in  the  old  smelly  place,  not  one  effort  to 
ventilate  it.  In  fact,  I  consider  the  vestibule  business 
a  misfortune,  for  it  prevents  fresh  air  getting  into  the 
whole  train,  so  that  cigar  smoke  is  wafted  all  through 
together  with  dining-car  and  all  other  possible  odours. 
However,  I  got  the  "  toilet "  first,  and  had  a  refresh- 
ing dowse  in  ice-cold  water  for  my  head.  The  beds 
were  gradually  made,  and  it  is  a  change  to  go  to  the 
dining-room  and  get  an  excellent  breakfast,  coffee 
beastly,  of  course,  but  plenty  of  it.  The  day  is  long, 
—  varied  by  local  newspapers  at  each  big  town,  and 
an  occasional  walk  at  stations  on  the  platform,  when 
time  allows.  Colder  than  anything  I  Ve  had  all  win- 
ter, hard  ice  on  all  ponds,  and  sparse  snow,  —  fields 
brown,  and  bare,  and  I  must  say  landscape  most  un- 
interesting, long,  flat  plain,  spindly  woods,  scatter- 
ing towns  of  wooden  houses,  —  the  sunset  fine  over 
monotonous  stubble  fields.  About  noon,  the  human 
beings  began  to  warm  towards  each  other.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSAN. 


238    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

ST.  Louis,  MISSOURI,  Wednesday, 

March  1%,  1890. 

Well,  well,  my  dear,  strange  doings.  .  .  .  Yes, 
Washington  was  a  scrimmage,  but  all  those  events, 
and  eke  yours  (forgive  me!)  seem  pale  like  this  ink, 
before  the  vortex  in  which  I  am  now  turning.  Be- 
fore my  eyes  are,  ever,  Agnes  Repplier  or  George 
Egbert  Craddock,  for  I  am  being  lionized  here  madly, 
furiously,  as  they  were  in  Boston,  only  more  so.  I 
seek  to  profit  by  their  defects,  and  to  seem  simple 
and  unelevated  in  company,  to  strive  to  discern  dif- 
ferences between  Mrs.  Jones  and  Mrs.  Bones,  and  to 
give  due  honour  to  the  local  lights,  instead  of  treat- 
ing them  with  the  contempt  which  I  received  myself 
from  Repplier;  but  as  I  recognise  her  difficulties,  I 
become  indulgent  to  her  failures.  Mrs.  Carpenter 
proves  a  little  trump.  I  have  closed  my  eyes  and 
just  follow  where  she  pulls  the  string.  She  led  me 
(although  partly  my  fault)  into  the  scrape  so  admir- 
ably described  in  the  enclosed  cutting  that  I  rejoice 
not  to  spend  any  time  over  it,  only  you  can  imagine 
the  brain-whirl  which  accompanied  it.  Lucky  enough 
I  had  read  Evelina  twice  in  one  day  so  lately,  for 
thus,  without  the  slightest  preparation,  I  could  go 
through  with  it,  in  great  glory,  and  only  additional 
triumph. 

Here  pause,  and  read  the  slip  from  paper.1 
That  was  Monday  P.  M.  You  left  me  in  bed  Sun- 
day (perhaps  you  are  just  reading  that  letter). 
Sunday,  at  six  o'clock  tea,  were  about  thirty  people, 
Mrs.  C.'s  own  friends  she  had  asked  to  meet  me, — 
all  coming  to  shake  hands  as  to  a  lion  (a  la  Repplier') , 
afterwards  eating  at  small  tables  scattered  about  the 

1  The  wrong  book  having  been  brought,  Miss  Hale  could  not 
give  the  reading  she  had  prepared. 


CHICAGO,  WASHINGTON,  NEW  YOKK     239 

rooms.  The  most  charming  person  here,  so  far,  is 
this  Mrs.  Lackland,  a  sister  of  old  Rev.  Elliot. 
She  is  a  sort  of  Chanoinesse  (but  really  not  much 
older  than  I),  very  pretty,  grey  hair,  sweet  man- 
ners, worldly,  bright,  full  of  wit  and  talk.  She 
was  here,  and  other  men  and  women  of  interest. 
Evidently  we  belong  to  the  bright,  literary,  radical 
set,  not  great  on  clothes  or  conventions,  scornful  of 
the  "  fashionable,"  church-,  Lent-keeping  set  who  rep- 
resent Beacon  Street  here.  Many  of  them  I  have 
since  seen;  but  I  guess  the  others  are  more  represen- 
tative of  real  St.  Louis.  Ask  Papa.  His  Mr. 
Learned  was  liere,  and  Mrs.  He  very  genial  and 
nice.  But  they  were  all  little  more  than  phantoms 
at  that  time. 

All  is  charming,  thoughtful,  considerate,  in  the 
house  here.  I  am  tended  like  a  precious  piece  of 
porcelain.  The  talk  chiefly  turns  (no,  but  often), 
on  the  sale  of  my  tickets,  which  was  a  wonder  of 
good  management.  The  room  holds  one  hundred,  the 
seats  are  gone  long  ago,  and  the  omitted,  howling  in 
anguish.  .  .  . 

There;  now,  you  have  the  lay  of  the  land.  Mrs. 
Copelin  (pronounced  "Copelan")  had  a  gorgeous,  far 
too  filling  dinner,  after  that  we  drove  (an  endless 
distance)  to  the  pretty  room  where  I  was-  to  read. 
Here  was  Mrs.  Carpenter,  much  elated,  as,  spite  the 
fearful  weather,  pouring  torrents,  and  such  mud  (  !  ) 
the  place  was  full  (only  two  seats  vacant).  Mrs. 
Lackland's  little  speech  was  charming,  and  the  thing 
went  splendidly,  rather  better  for  the  blunder  about 
the  books,  but  imagine  my  condition  for  a  few  mo- 
ments! Everyone  was  presented  afterwards,  very 
gushing.  .  .  . 

Tuesday,  I  went  to  town  with  a  neighbour,  Mrs. 
Herf,  in  a  carriage,  and  bought  a  pair  of  thick  boots, 
for  nothing  I  have  is  fit  for  the  mud.  At  two,  we 


240    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

all  went  to  a  great  lunch  at  Mrs.  Copelin's  where 
were  about  one  hundred  women.  I  wore  my  black 
net  over  white  silk,  with  a  sash  of  vieux  rose.  The 
lunch  was  at  little  tables,  made  a  sort  of  "progres- 
sive "  one,  for  after  each  course,  I  was  moved,  as  the 
lion  of  the  occasion,  presented  to  about  six  new 
women,  and  expected  to  say  something  brilliant,  or 
at  least,  literary.  This  was  rather  trying  as  there 
were  six  courses,  and  six  changes  to  six  tables,  but  I 
lend  myself  to  this  starring  business  with  some  zest 
and  amusement.  .  .  .  There  was  a  woman  there 
(name  hopeless),  who  asked  if  my  sister  was  the 
author  of  the  "  Queen  Red  Chessman,"  which  she 
much  admires.  We  got  away  at  five,  had  a  light  sort 
of  dinner  after  so  much  eating,  and  then  were  hawked 
down  town  to  John  Fiske's  last  lecture  on  "Early 
America  " ;  same,  I  suppose,  you  heard.  Mrs.  Hem- 
enway  pays  for  the  course  here,  and  everybody  goes. 
He  is  much  feted  and  adored,  and  loves  his  St.  Louis 
much.  In  the  hall  he  used,  I  am  to  do  the  "  Elixir  " 
next  Monday  evening ;  the  tickets  are  selling  like  wild- 
fire; the  wily  Carpenters  kept  them  back  till  after 
I  had  made  my  first  impression.  .  .  .  This  time  it 
is  for  the  Training  School  for  Nurses,  and  they  will 
doubtless  clear  some  hundreds,  besides  paying  my 
two  hundred  dollars  and  expenses. 

I  am  now  even  with  the  present  time,  for  this 
morning  I  have  but  prepared  "Cherubina"  for  to- 
night Very  ingeniously  they  have  put  this  one  read- 
ing in  the  evening,  in  a  larger  hall,  with  the  permis- 
sion on  this  one  coupon  for  ladies  to  bring  their 
"  authorised  escorts  "  each  one,  this  admits  the  men, 
doubles  the  audience,  for  the  same  money ;  the  tickets 
are  all  season,  five  dollars  for  the  course  of  six,  with 
this  tit-bit  for  the  men  thrown  in.  All  the  planning, 
Mr.  Carpenter's,  is  wonderful,  and  I  wish  I  could 
take  him  starring  with  me  everywhere. 


CHICAGO,  WASHINGTON,  NEW  YORK    241 

Every  available  moment  while  I  stay  is  engaged 
to  some  lunch,  tea,  club,  dinner,  or  reading,  and 
people  wroth  that  no  vacant  times  remain.  I  could  n't 
stand  the  racket  long,  but  guess  I  can  for  these  two 
weeks.  It  is  indeed  amusing,  and  then  peaceful 
mornings  are  a  great  relief.  Then  we  have  really 
charming  talks,  Mrs.  Carpenter  in  my  room,  very 
appreciative,  herself  full  of  fun  and  good  talk,  real 
Boston.  .  .  . 

Always  yours, 

SUSE. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Summer  at  Matunuck,  1890  —  "The  Elixir  of 
Youth"  at  Olana — Trip  to  Europe  with  Miss 
Susan  Day,  1891  —  Winter  in  California  giving 
readings,  1892  —  Matunuck,  1892  — Out  West 
again. 

(1890-1892) 
To  EDWARD  E.  HALE,  JR. 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  May  %,  1890. 

DEAR  EDWARD,  —  I  am  dying  to  go  to  Persia.  I 
always  was,  since  I  saw  the  architectural  coloured 
pictures  Mr.  Church  has,  and  you  know  that  book 
of  Persian  poets  of  his.  Of  course,  let  us  go  in  two 
years.  I  can  easily  make  twenty-five  hundred  dol- 
lars next  winter  and  the  winter  after,  and  that  will 
be  enough,  unless  we  change  our  minds,  —  but  really, 
merely  by  planning  them  beforehand  in  this  way,  I 
have  often  accomplished  things  as  difficult.  You 
acquire  the  language,  and  I  will  attend  to  minor  lan- 
guages; though  MclSTutt  says  he  gave  up  Persia 
(going  across  from  Nijni  Novgorod),  because  he  felt 
that  he  did  n't  know  enough  Russian  to'  accomplish 
it  in  safety.  He  was  a  little  man  in  Washington, 
who  talks  every  language.  But  we  can  do  it. 

It  is  perfectly  heavenly  here,  and  I  wish  this  could 
be  your  time.  Cornelia  is  running  me,  and  she  is 
really  just  the  right  sort.  She  cooks  splendidly,  and 
she  goes  her  own  way,  I  mine,  and  without  any 
bother  the  things  are  done.  Her  son,  Johnny,  is  also 
on  hand  and  Franklin  is  coming  to-day.  Her  Hannah 


MATUNUCK,  EUEOPE,   CALIFORNIA     243 

is  to  do  my  chamber  work,  and  an  excellent  cook  they 
have  provided  will  take  Cornelia's  place,  when  the 
family  begins. 

The  land  seems  more  enchanting  than  ever,  just 
beginning  to  tint  with  spring  soft  colours.  Great 
dish  of  mayflowers  before  me.  I  heard  a  whippoor- 
will,  he  suddenly  started  up  in  the  middle  of  the 
night,  made  one  remark  and  was  silent  again.  The 
"  Summerus  "  is  blown  down.  I  seem  to  not  regret  it 
in  the  least.  The  seats  were  very  hard,  —  yet  there 
you  recited  the  "  Deserted  Village "  to  your  exas- 
perated brothers.  .  .  .  Mail-time. 

Yrs., 
SUSAN. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  Sunday, 
June  1,  1890. 

DEAR  LUCRETIA,  —  At  three-thirty  this  morn,  in  a 
yellow  dawn,  as  perchance  you  have  heard,  Cornelia 
and  I  met  on  the  pave  in  night  gowns.  At  quarter 
of  four  I  was  taking  my  bath,  and  she  was  grinding 
the  coffee,  at  quarter  past  Papa  and  I  were  drinking 
the  delicious  results  of  her  grind,  and  at  half  past 
we  were  on  the  road.  As  I  turned  into  the  woods 
on  my  homeward  way,  having  left  him  on  the  Kings- 
ton platform,  it  was  half -past  five!  Such  lovely 
smells,  sight,  sounds ;  the  trip  was  delicious.  I  let  the 
old  fool-horse  dawdle  along,  —  flew  out  to  get  a  quan- 
tity of  lady's-slippers,  like  yours,  under  an  oak  tree, 
had  a  delicious  conversation  with  Welcome  Kenyon, 
pronounced  "  Kinyon,"  and  when  I  next  saw  the  clock 
in  the  red  room,  it  was  —  five  minutes  past  seven. 

It 's  now  eleven-thirty.  It  seems  seons  since  then. 
But  suddenly  in  honour  of  Edward,  we  have  tumbled 
into  regular  summer  weather.  The  windows  are 
open;  we  have  no  fire.  I  have  a  summer  shirt  on. 


244    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

Sun  pours  in.  Leaves  wave  and  rustle.  Somehow 
or  other,  all  is  wholly  changed.  This  was  partly 
owing  to  the  magic  of  Papa's  presence,  for  we  had 
a  beautiful  time,  all  the  more  so  from  its  concentrated 
briefness.  I  hope  you  may  be  seeing  him  at  this  pre- 
cise moment,  and  learning  the  same  thing,  for  I  'm 
sure  he  enjoyed  it.  I  emphasise  this,  and  pray  ob- 
serve it  is  emphasised  before  going  on  to  describe  the 
malaproperties  which  mixed  themselves  with  the  oc- 
casion. But  these  were  really  trifling  compared  with 
the  niceness  of  seeing  him.  I  'm  only  afraid  I  bored 
him  fearfully  with  the  gabble  he  indulgently  allowed 
me.  But  I  guess  it  did  him  good  to  let  me  talk.  H© 
seemed  discouraged  when  he  came,  and  I  think  en- 
joyed it  all  himself. 

In  the  first  place  observe :  —  I  have  been  here  four 
weeks.  Each  separate  week,  he  has  written  to  say 
he  would  be  here.  Therefore  we  have  kept  his  study 
swept  and  garnished,  and  the  bedroom  all  ready, — 
that  remains  so  still.  Finally  he  wrote  he  should  n't 
come  at  all.  Tyndales,  after  saying  they  should,  said 
they  should  n't  till  next  week.  Now  under  these  an- 
ticipations, I  kept  postponing  the  crisis  of  the  house- 
cleaning,  viz.:  oiling  the  parlour  and  entry  floor. 
My  dear,  they  were  just  oiled,  and  everything  they 
contained  piled  in  a  heap  in  Papa's  study  when  he 
arrived,  so  he  couldn't  set  foot  in  it,  even  cross  the 
threshold.  Moreover,  the  time,  which  eateth  all 
things,  had  just  brought  the  moment  when  your  room 
and  my  room  were  being  cleaned,  everything  they 
contain  was  in  the  entry,  so  that  Papa  had  to  climb 
over  them  to  get  to  his  room.  All  my  things  were  in 
Nelly's  room  (mattresses,  gowns,  etc.)  so  he  couldn't 
go  there,  and  in  Fullum's  room  were  assembled  all 
the  brooms,  pails,  slops,  dusters,  in  action  for  this 
assault.  The  dining-room  was  cleaned  but  impas- 
sable, all  the  kitchen  things  were  outdoors.  A  howl- 


MATUNUCK,  EUROPE,  CALIFORNIA    245 

ing  wind  made  all  outdoors  untenable  except  the  big 
porch,  and  this  could  only  be  reached  by  going  out 
of  the  red  room  window,  because  the  parlour  and 
entry  were  fresh  oiled.  You  could  n't  open  this  same 
red  room  window  for  a  moment  without  all  the  things 
out  of  his  bag  blowing  all  over  everything ;  and  here 
we  also  had  to  eat,  as  there  was  too  much  wind  on  all 
piazzas.  Happily  his  own  room  up-stairs,  the  blue, 
was  cleaned  fresh,  and  I  made  the  bed  myself,  so 
there  he  had  a  great  nap.  Cornelia  was  excellent, 
and  we  really  had  a  lovely  morning  on  the  east 
piazza  reached  by  rope-ladder,  so  to  speak,  —  took  an 
excellent  walk  P.  M.  and  then,  for  the  first  time  since 
I  came !  it  was  warm  enough  to  watch  the  sunset  from 
my  seat  (summer-house  blown  down)  and  a  great 
moon.  ISTo  wood-fire!  scarcely  lamps  as  we  went  to 
bed  at  eight.  Dinner  (twelve-fifteen*),  so  no  more 
now. 

Yours, 
STJZE. 

P.  S.  Monday  morning.  —  My  dear,  it  is  warm ! ! 
Really  warm.  Thermometer  says,  "  summer  heat," 
76°  in  the  shade,  and  last  evening  I  sat  on  the  porch 
till  bedtime.  Saw  sunset  on  "Susan's  Seat,"  and 
great  nearly  full  moon  flooding  the  scene,  without  a 
wrap,  without  a  chill.  Oh ! !  it  makes  so  much  differ- 
ence. Suddenly  the  idea  of  fires  is  forgot,  the  red 
room  deserted,  my  (own)  bedroom  a  paradise,  and  all 
the  piazzas  practicable.  I  fear  now  a  storm,  but  that 
peg  once  in,  we  hold  on  to  the  theory  at  least  of  sum- 
mer. And  at  five-thirty  this  morning  arrived  the 
dusky  band,  headed  by  Cornelia,  now  retired  on  half- 
pay  (literally),  who  will  break  in  the  new  cook,  and 
finish  the  odds  and  ends  (well  named)  of  cleaning, 
the  bottom  of  the  pot  closet  and  the  top  of  the  front 
door.  Lucy,  a  nice  wistful-looking  coloured,  who 


246    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

made  me  excellent  hash  for  breakfast.  Hannah,  who 
is  now  singing  as  she  makes  my  bed  (too  frequently 
of  late  the  work  of  my  own  hands).  Outdoors 
George  I  is  restoring  the  "  droive-way  "  destroyed  by 
I-talians.  He  is  aided  by  his  serf.  'Lisha  is  painting 
the  boats.  Albert  Sebastian  is  whetting  his  scythe 
to  cut  the  lawn.  Franklin  is  beating  the  rugs,  and 
their  dust  is  flying  in  again  at  the  windows.  Lionel 
Clark  is  hurrying  from  Wakefield  with  paint  to  do 
the  piazza  settees,  neglected  by  the  painters.  All  this 
because  'tis  June,  and  the  Weedens  are  coming. 
Only  this  stirs  the  back  side  to  any  activity,  and  I 
waste  my  breath  till  now.  Mr.  Cove  is  rebottoming 
the  piazza  chairs. 

Yours, 
SUSE. 

To  GEORGE  L.  CT.ARKE 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND, 

September  7f  1890. 

YOU  POOR  DEAR  GEORGE,  —  No  wonder  you  were 
terrified.  I  hope  you  have  already  heard  it  was  only 
the  stable  and  barn.  My  house  is  saved.  It  was 
terrible  enough  any  way,  one  of  the  nights  that  cut 
a  deep  mark.  We  were  all  aroused  by  Billy's  an- 
guished cry,  "  Fire !  Come  down !  Bring  pails !  " 
Of  course  I  thought,  and  each  separate  one,  "It  is 
Our  House"  but  looking  out  I  saw  a  fierce  glare  for 
background  sharp  against  the  Weedens',  and  thought 
sure  it  was  that  house.  In  an  instant,  incredibly 
quick,  all  our  men  were  clothed  (?)  and  tearing  down 
the  hill  with  green  pails  in  their  hands.  In  a  few 
minutes,  at  my  porch,  in  my  night  gown,  I  received 
poor  old  Bailey  and  Ellen,  —  the  little  girls, — 
whimpering  they  had  n't  any  place  to  go  to.  Popped 
them  into  my  bed  in  Fullum's  room,  where  Alice 
and  Rose  Perkins  had  come  to  see  the  scene  from 


MATUNUCK,  EUROPE,  CALIFORNIA    247 

that  window.  We  all  thought  the  W.  house  would 
go,  sure.  A  man  was  sitting  like  a  cat  up  on  the 
roof,  yelling  for  water,  and  they  all  set  to  hauling  it 
from  the  well  and  conveying  it  there.  This  saved  the 
house,  which,  however,  is  blistered  and  scorched  and 
would  have  caught  inevitably,  but  for  the  water ;  and 
then  the  wind  changed  and  led  the  flames  towards  the 
sea. 

Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Weeden  was  brought  up  here  by 
Louis  (our  boys  were  fine),  and  I  put  her  on  the 
lounge.  Later  came  Leila  and  Esther  Butts.  We 
made  a  little  wood  blaze  in  the  red  room  and  sate 
there  talking  low.  Raymer  and  Jamie  (well  scared) 
went  to  bed  in  Louis'  room  (Nelly's).  We  knew 
then  that  both  barns  were  lost,  and  the  horses  roasted 
in  the  flames.  .  .  .  The  coachman  woke  to  find  the 
barn  burning,  lost  his  head,  could  n't  find  the  door  to 
let  out  the  horses,  and  escaped  himself  through  some 
window  without  a  thing.  All  of  us  are  sure  it  was 
his  pipe  or  matches  that  set  the  fire,  but  he  is  so  de- 
nuded, nobody  accuses  him. 

I  never  shall  forget  that  dawn,  the  flaming  sky,  a 
waning  moon,  and  the  still,  calm,  cold  light  that  crept 
on  us  before  the  sun.  The  girls  and  I  walked  round 
the  house,  we  were  all  sort  of  calm  but  excited. 
"  Susan,  why  don't  you  go  to  bed  ? "  "I  have  n't  got 
any  bed !  "  But  by  broad  daylight  we  turned  out  the 
little  girls,  they  ran  home,  and  I  turned  in  for  one 
hour,  —  for  at  seven,  we  had  a  good  breakfast  for 
hungry,  grimy  Robert,  Louis,  Phil.,  Harry.  Parber 
had  been  forced  to  turn  in  about  four. 

They  have  $2400  insurance  and  the  house  to  be 
painted.  The  old  billiard  table,  insured,  brought 
three  hundred  dollars !  Its  legs,  reversed,  made  a 
prominent  part  of  the  sight  .  .  . 

Always  yours, 

SUSAIST. 


248    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

To  MRS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

OLANA,  October  17, 1890. 

MY  CAROLINE,  —  I  feel  it  is  time  I  should  shrive 
myself  to  you  after  total  abstinence  from  all  commu- 
nication through  the  summer.  You  see  I  have  aban- 
doned Matunuck,  shut  the  house,  and  fled  hither  to 
the  mountains,  where  there  is  peace,  after  a  tumultu- 
ous season  which  I  will  proceed  to  describe  to  you. 

Now  Robert  Hale,  the  youngest  nephew,  who  is  a 
dear,  conceived  about  those  days  the  idea  that  he 
would  no  longer  be  a  burden  to  his  parents,  neither 
take  from  the  parental  pocket  that  gold  which  was 
needful  for  his  sustenance,  and  eke  for  his  boots  and 
trousers ;  and  he  said  to  me :  "  Susan,  I  will  go  forth 
into  the  wilderness  and  make  a  good  business  in  rais- 
ing locusts  and  wild  honey  for  the  market."  And  I 
said :  "  Robert,  do  not  this  thing,  but  come  with  me 
as  usual  to  Matunuck,  and  I  will  put  money  in  thy 
mouth  and  food  in  thy  wallet." 

Whereupon  I  encompassed  him  about  with  three 
youths  to  teach  and  coach  for  their  schools  and  col- 
leges, viz.,  Louis  Church,  the  youngest  son  of  this 
place,  a  dear  as  ever  was,  aged  twenty-one;  Hugh 
Williams,  son  of  Martha  and  Moses,  you  know,  a 
handsome  tall-headed  youth,  very  sweet,  and  a  lazy 
dog;  and  one  Harry  Rice,  of  whom  we  became  very 
fond.  He  was  to  be  crammed  for  "  Hoppy's  "  school 
(more  respectfully  Mr.  John  Hopkinson),  Hugh  was 
to  enter,  if  the  thing  could  be  brought  to  pass,  this 
autumn  at  Harvard,  and  Louis  was  to  read  English 
literature  for  life  in  general.  So  one  day  in  June 
these  three  youths  settled  upon  me,  all  shy,  all  home- 
sick, all  scared  to  death  of  us ;  like  cats  on  the  fence 
they  gazed  at  each  other  and  said  no  word.  I  had 
also  in  the  house  Lucretia ;  the  Rev.  Edward,  always 
delightful,  but  somewhat  awesome  to  the  youths; 


MATUNUCK,  EtJKOPE,  CALIFORNIA    249 

Robert,  whom  they  also  feared,  though  he  strove  to 
look  very  gentle  on  them;  and  Philip  the  nephew, 
fresh  from  Paris,  the  genius  of  the  family,  most  de- 
lightfully amusing,  but  eccentric  and  lawless  to  the 
last  degree. 

To  these  were  added  unto  me  as  the  summer  went 
on,  all  sorts  of  inflictions  and  afflictions,  partly  in  the 
form  of  joy  and  delight,  fair  girls,  who  flirted  with! 
these  boys ;  Minot,  for  a  week,  who  has  become  very 
fat  and  forty,  and  carries  round  with  him  a  photo- 
graph gallery  of  his  numerous  progeny,  remarkably 
pretty  little  girls  and  several  twins;  the  great  Alex- 
ander Harrison,  who  came  over  from  Newport  to 
encourage  Phil,  and  pass  judgment  on  his  work ;  my 
Jack,  otherwise  Edward,  Jr.,  who  stayed  a  fortnight 
with  us  before  going  off  for  three  years  on  the  Conti- 
nent. He  has  a  travelling  fellowship  conferred  on 
him  by  Harvard  for  that  time  (five  hundred  dollars 
a  year),  and  is  to  study  literature,  philology,  ethnol- 
ogy, and  all  the  -logy  things  belonging  to  language,  in 
German  universities.  That 's  the  end  of  him,  as  far 
as  I  am  concerned,  for  the  present ;  but  so  it  is  with 
nephews,  as  with  other  stock,  one  down  and  another 
come  on.  This  is  not  the  half  of  my  list  of  inmates, 
but  the  rest  of  it  would  only  bore  you.  I  had  angels 
in  the  kitchen,  they  were  coloured  ones,  "  Rye  and 
Indian,"  I  call  them,  native  neighbours ;  and  a  very 
choice  cat,  called  Timorous  Tim.  .  .  . 

Well,  the  campaign  was  a  great  success.  The  three 
youths  became  so  fond  of  the  place  they  could  not 
bear  to  leave  it.  Harry  got  into  his  school,  and  Hugh 
got  into  his  college,  and  Louis  got  well  and  strong 
and  jolly,  which  was  the  real  object  of  his  coining,  and 
Phil,  painted  two  portraits  and  lots  of  sketches,  and 
Lucretia  grew  fat,  and  Papa  Edward  was  rested 
and  refreshed,  and  all  the  boys  fell  in  love  with  all 
the  girls,  and  got  over  it  immediately  afterwards, 


250    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

and  the  money  came  out  .about  even  for  the  house- 
keeping, and  Robert  has  four  hundred  and  fifty  dol- 
lars in  the  bank  to  start  with.  He  is  twenty-one,  and 
he  has  resolved  not  to  come  upon  his  father  any  more ; 
is  n't  that  plucky  ? 

Now,  so  great  and  joyous  a  summer  worked  for 
the  glorification  of  Susan,  who  was  adored  by  great 
and  small ;  but,  perhaps,  you  can  guess  that  very  little 
was  left  of  her  at  the  end  of  it.  So  as  soon  as  I  could 
get  rid  of  the  last  of  them,  I  locked  the  door  and 
came  off  up  here,  where  dear  Mrs.  Church  was  long- 
ing for  me,  and  here  I  fell  upon  a  bed  and  slept  for 
three  days,  except  for  putting  on  good  clothes  and 
being  agreeable  at  the  necessary  periods. 

Always  your  faithful 

SUSAN. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

OLANA,  Thursday,  October  16,  1890. 
DEAR  LUC., —  .  .  .  Now  to  my  events;  my  dear, 
on  Saturday  evening  I  did  the  "Elixir  of  Youth" 
here!  Mrs.  Warner  thorned  Mrs.  Church  to  make 
me  (I'm  displeased  with  Mrs.  W.  for  this  foolish- 
ness), and  I  couldn't  well  refuse,  although  I  had  not 
a  thing  in  the  way  of  costumes,  and  only  that  small 
trunk's  worth  of  my  usual  clothes.  It  was  sprung 
on  me  at  breakfast.  I  yielded,  and  everybody  flew 
off  in  different  directions  on  different  behests. 
Downie  to  Hudson  to  buy  false  hair  and  rouge,  Louis 
and  Leila  to  drive  round  the  country  and  invite  the 
neighbours.  The  day  was  one  of  scrimmage,  and 
on  my  part,  of  great  gloom  —  but  it  really  went  off 
charmingly,  and  I  am  glad  it  took  place,  for  it  gave 
great  pleasure,  and  Mr.  Church  is  immensely  pleased. 
He  says  "  the  half  had  not  been  told  him."  The  stage 
was  perfect.  In  fact  I  have  always  been  longing  to 


MATUNTJCK,  EUROPE,  CALIFORNIA     251 

do  something  on  it,  a  raised  dais  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs.  About  ten  guests  came  (in  the  dark,  long 
drives,  up  our  winding  wood  road)  and  this  with 
ourselves  and  the  servants,  for  whom  a  sort  of  gal- 
lery behind  a  screen  was  arranged,  made  about  thirty 
for  audience.  Mrs.  Warner  played  soft  music  as  the 
Old  Lady  came  gliding  down  the  stairway  and  ad- 
vanced to  the  front.  I  had  on  my  heliotrope  plush! 
wrapper  with  a  canary-coloured  little  crepe  shawl 
over  it.  Standing  with  a  background  of  old  idols 
and  armour,  and  two  great  bronze  cranes,  and  tapes- 
try, lighted  by  tall  standing  lamps  hidden  from  the 
audience,  and  raised  four  steps  above  their  level,  the 
effect  must  have  been  perfect.  I  wore  my  own  india 
silk  for  50 ;  —  and  25,  Downie  squeezed  me  into  her 
ball-gown  of  white  crepe,  most  becoming,  a  wide  gap 
in  the  laced-up-back  was  plastered  o'er  with  a  piece 
of  sash,  and  I  had  her  white  feather  boa  on  my  throat. 
At  15,  I  wore  bodily  a  gown  of  a  small  Twitchell 
from  Hartford,  who  came  with  the  Warners.  The 
length  and  all  was  just  right,  only  a  few  plaits  had 
to  be  let  out  at  the  breast.  This,  of  course,  brought 
down  the  house.  Michael,  the  great  big  coachman, 
brought  in  the  Baby,  to  the  great  delight  of  the  gal- 
lery, who  thought  the  whole  performance  the  best 
thing  ever  seen.  (Miss  Bolger  will  like  to  hear  about 
the  "Elixir.")  Leila  and  Downie  were  both  very 
nice.  Leila  hustled  me  off  at  the  end  and  got  me 
into  my  own  black  net  gown,  to  return  to  the  com- 
pany. Was  n't  that  a  time !  The  Warners  (  Charles 
Dudley)  were  amusing.  .  .  .  She  plays  superbly, 
and  willingly,  all  the  Dresel-Chopin  things  we  used 
to  know  by  heart.  They  went  off  Monday  early,  and 
with  them  Leila,  Louis,  Downie,  and  Mrs.  Church, 
the  latter  for  two  days'  shopping  in  New  York,  back 
last  evening  with  Louis.  So  that  Mr.  Church  and 
I  were  left  alone  like  Darby  and  Joan.  It  rained 


252    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

incessantly  Tuesday,  but  he  was  most  agreeable,  and, 
of  course,  I  spent  much  time  by  myself.  I  have  not 
got  over  my  thirst  for  sleep,  and  sometimes  fall  on 
the  bed  morning  and  afternoon,  at  it  again  from  nine 
at  night  till  seven.  I  take  great  walks  daily,  and  feel 
myself  coming  round.  The  trees  are  glowing  and 
hills  soft  and  luscious.  .  .  . 

Yours, 


To  Miss  LFCRETIA  P.  HALE 

[BOSTON],  Saturday,  November  8®,  1890. 
10  o'clock  A.  M. 

Oh !  my  anguish !  Note  when  you  get  this :  I  am 
about  to  take  horse  —  electric  —  with  the  Stanleys 
to  see  James  Lowell  at  Elmwood.  Farewell,  if  it 
proves  to  be  forever:  — this  P.  M.,  Coolidge  reception, 
and  then  Tyndales  at  six.  Funeral  to-morrow,  mine, 
I  mean  —  this  is  a  jest.  .  .  . 

That  was  a  stunning  dinner  at  the  Lorings'.  Very 
select  and  very  jolly,  Helen  Bell,  —  Mrs.  Henry 
Whitman!  and  —  myself,  also  a  certain  Miss  Put- 
nam, pretty,  who  used  to  belong  to  my  Charade  Club. 
I  was  taken  out  by  Professor  Japan  Morse,  and  he 
is  delightful,  sate  next  Mr.  Goddard,  who  was  at  end 
of  table,  opposite  Gen.  Loring,  Mrs.  Loring,  middle 
of  side.  The  Fenelosas  it  was  for.  She  is  very 
pretty,  by  the  way  of  being  beautiful,  in  fact,  rather 
conscious.  Gay  was  there  as  a  Japanese. 

I  have  much  funny  things  to  tell  you.  Lost  for- 
ever if  I  don't  survive  this  expedition  into  the  heart 
of  Cambridge. 

Yours, 

SUSE. 


MATOTUCK,  EUROPE,  CALIFORNIA    253 

To  Miss  LUCKETIA  P.  HALE 

7  SACKVILLE  STREET,  LONDON,  Monday, 

December  %%,  1890. 

DEAR  LUCRETIA,  —  Words  fail  even  me  to  convey 
to  you  any  idea  of  our  surroundings.  It  is  nearly 
ten  o'clock  in  our  very  luxurious  lodgings;  it  is  so 
dark,  with  a  great  yellow  fog,  that  we  have  our  lamp 
and  candles  (very  feeble  ones,  to  be  sure),  and  so 
cold,  in  spite  of  fires  in  every  room,  that  we  are  sit- 
ting close  up  to  the  grate  with  our  thickest  wraps  on, 
and  all  wound  about  with  the  heaviest  steamer  rug! 
So  much  for  London  in  December.  How  you  would 
hate  this  darkness!  My  dear!  Try  to  realise  it. 
When  I  came  out  into  our  parlour  at  nine  for  coffee 
it  was  just  like  the  middle  of  the  night,  with  some 
faint  dimness  of  a  distant  dawn.  The  room  is  large, 
great  veils  of  blue  fog  always  hang  about  it  in  rifts. 
We  see  each  other  but  vaguely  across  the  thick  air. 
Nice  little  grates  full  of  soft  coals,  constantly  heaped 
up  (at  our  expense),  but  they  smoke  like  the  dickens. 
Candles  have  a  halo  about  them,  iris-tinted.  Our 
lungs  are  all  full  of  this  thickness,  and  our  noses  of 
the  smell  of  smoke  and  coal.  But  this  is  a  very  ex- 
ceptional season.  When  we  arrived  there  were  "  nine 
degrees  of  frost"  as  they  say,  meaning  23°  Fahren- 
heit; this  hadn't  occurred  for  nine  years,  there  was 
snow,  and  it  began  soon  again.  There  is  about  an 
inch  of  snow  in  the  streets,  and  they  are  nearly  wild 
over  it,  great  snow  ploughs  drawn  by  countless  horses 
and  attended  by  brigades  of  men  scrape  the  little 
stuff  into  corners.  It  clogs  the  carrot-slice  wheels 
of  the  four-wheelers,  and  the  drivers  demand  extra 
fare.  And  awfully  cold,  inside,  for  they  have  no  idea 
how  to  warm  houses.  I  keep  thinking  tow  you 
would  hate  it.  But  to  narrate ;  my !  what  aeons  seem 
to  have  passed  since  my  steamer-letter.  Let  me  begin 


254    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

by  saying  we  are  always  having  a  splendid  time. 
Susan  is  in  good  spirits,  delighted  even  with  misfor- 
tune, as  every  traveller  should  be  —  I  mean  discom- 
fort, for  we  have  had  no  misfortunes  whatever.  We 
laugh  and  plan  and  review  our  triumphs  in  the  most 
constantly  jolly  manner.  She  is  very  considerate  and 
unselfish,  and  very  thoughtful  of  me  in  all  possible 
ways. 

Well,  Thursday,  land  was  in  sight,  and  we  were 
hawked  out  of  our  beds  by  "  joddess,"  who  wanted  to 
get  through  her  work.  "  Ze  baz  ess  redy,"  this  per- 
nicious creature  announced  when  it  was  yet  dark, 
before  seven  o'clock ;  and  we  were  all  dressed  to  leave 
the  ship,  and  things  packed  and  strapped  by  eight. 
Then  came  the  most  tedious  hanging-round  period. 
We  were  off  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and  waiting  for  the 
tender  or  something.  It  was  eleven  before-  we  were 
off  the  steamer,  and  all  that  between  time,  standing 
or  sitting  round  in  draughty  passageways,  twaddling 
with  the  people  who  were  going  on  to  Bremen.  Cold 
as  Greenland,  and  no  means  of  getting  warm.  Then 
we  descended  to  the  tug,  a  very  respectable  convey- 
ance, but  open-deck,  and  waving  farewell  to  the 
Saale,  sate  on  a  settee  in  rugs,  chomping  up  to  South- 
hampton.  Only  a  handful  of  fellow-creatures.  .  .  . 

Our  protector  was  Linzee  Tilden,  Effie  Bird's  hus- 
band; he  saw  us  through  the  custom-house  and  into 
the  train  at  Southampton,  a  spot  I  am  now  pretty 
familiar  with.  We  had  but  time  for  a  hasty  sand- 
wich, and  some  Scotch  whisky  before  starting  for 
London  in  an  ice-cold  compartment  where  we  could 
see  our  breath'.  Hot-water  things  for  feet  were  all ; 
and  the  trip  about  two  hours.  Snow  on  the  ground, 
and  skating  as  we  passed  small  ponds.  Luckily  we 
had  all  our  rugs;  and  had  a  very  jolly  ride  of  it  with 
first  impressions  of  England.  But  just  imagine  not 
warming  a  first-class  railway  carriage  in  Decem- 


MATUNUCK,  EUROPE,  CALIFORNIA     255 

ber!  They  don't  think  of  it.  But  now  the  fun 
begins.  London  I  Waterloo !  a  four-wheeler,  — 
driving  through  the  well-known  streets,  Piccadilly 
to  Sackville  Street,  a  knocker  on  the  door,  great  con- 
fusion of  departing  boxes  in  the  hall,  and  our  boxes. 
We  were  a  day  sooner  than  expected,  but  our  rooms 
soon  ready,  and  we  installed  in  our  delightful  quar- 
ters. The  house  is  just  like  6  Hamilton  Place  in  the 
days  before  gas,  water,  furnace;  I  keep  thinking  of 
it  all  the  time.  We  are  up  one  flight,  with  a  front 
parlour  on  Sackville  Street,  three  great  windows,  ab- 
solutely useless,  as  they  let  in  no  light ;  folding  doors 
open  to  my  bedroom,  and  Susan's  is  just  behind. 
The  bedrooms  exactly  as  cold  as  Matunuck  at  this 
season !  —  although  each  room  has  a  constant  fire  in 
the  grate.  But,  of  course,  you  know  these  fires  don't 
influence  an  inch  away  from  themselves.  I  was  soon 
as  you  may  suppose  (about  4  p.  M.)  in  the  depths  of 
a  four-poster  mahogany  bedstead  with  a  flight  of 
steps  leading  up  to  it,  soft  depths  of  feather  bed,  but 
warm.  Jane,  the  delightful  maid,  flitted  about  pok- 
ing the  fire.  I  saw  her  through  veils  of  blue  smoke ; 
she  brought  'ot  water  and  more  towels.  I  slept  till 
nearly  seven,  then  hastily  jumped  into  my  tea-gown 
and  came  forth  to  receive  Mr.  Tilden,  whom  we  had 
invited  to  dinner.  Our  parlour  was  all  right  now 
with  fire,  a  lamp,  and  plenty  candles.  It  is  large 
and  the  farther,  or  Greenland,  end  is  the  dining- 
room,  where  we  now  had  a  cosy  little  dinner,  ordered 
by  us,  and  served  by  Jean,  a  sweet  French  garqon, 
very  devoted;  but  soon  leaving  the  table  to  nestle  up 
to  the  fire  for  coffee  and  Tilden's  cigar.  He  bade  us 
farewell  when  he  went,  —  off  for  the  Sunny  South 
the  next  day.  Now  that  was  the  whole  of  Thursday. 
Friday,,  came  Stevens  the  devoted,  very  burly  and 
nice,  and  full  of  plans,  Susan  and  he  mutually 
pleased.  You  must  know  that  I  had  got  a  horrid 


256    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

cold  and  sore  throat  in  the  climate  just  described. 
It  began  by  being  too  warm  in  bed  on  the  steamer, 
and  the  exposure  of  Thursday  didn't  better  it;  so 
I  got  Stevens  to  take  me  in  a  cab  to  see  Dr.  Benjamin 
Waed  Kichardson,  whom  he  recommended  as  some- 
thing of  a  professional  light.  It  was  well  as  a  study 
of  the  English  method  of  doing  these  things.  We 
drove  to  Manchester  Square,  sent  in  names  and  waited 
a  long  time  in  a  huge  room  on  the  lower  floor,  where 
a  great  table  was  laid  out  with  every  possible  period- 
ical like  the  reading-room  of  a  library.  At  last  we 
were  shown  across  the  entry  to  the  great  man's  library 
where  he  sate  at  a  writing-table  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  with  a  horrid  lamp.  They  have  no  idea  here 
of  the  Kochester  Burner  or  anything  bright,  only 
"  Duplex,"  and  dim  at  that ;  the  ground-glass  shades 
seem  thicker  than  ours.  This  was  high  noon,  you 
know.  He  is  a  very  chatty,  affable  man,  knew  all 
about  "  Edward  Everett  Hale,"  prattled  of  America, 
as  he  wrote  the  prescriptions.  He  fetched  a  reflector 
and  lashed  it  to  his  forehead,  and  then  by  the  dim 
light  of  this  lamp  went  down  and  explored  my  throat. 
But,  lor!  his  appliances  were  antidiluvian  compared 
with  those  of  Vincent  Bowditch  and  dear  Dr.  Bangs, 
who  have  gas  jets  for  lighting  any  part  of  the  human 
frame  within.  He  searched  about  amongst  my  ton- 
sils, then  exclaimed,  "I  have  it,  I  see  it,  it  is  not 
at  all  dangerous,"  and  taking  his  head  out  of  my 
mouth  he  ran  to  write  prescriptions.  .  .  .  He  would 
like  to  come  to  America  and  lecture,  and  he  told  me 
the  titles  of  six  lectures,  about  the  "Morals  of 
People's  Insides,"  as  you  might  say,  but  "  Hatha- 
way," that's  the  lecture  agent  that  Amelia  B.  had, 
told  him  the  subject  wouldn't  interest  Americans. 
I  think  they  would,  and  this  gave  me  a  chance  to  air 
my  views  on  the  foolishness  of  employing  Hathaway. 
Moreover,  he  showed  us  a  "  Statement "  from  D.  Ap- 


MATOTUCK,  EUKOPE,  CALIFORNIA     257 

pleton  and  Company,  with  whom  he  has  dealings, 
which  he  has  had  a  year  and  never  could  make  out. 
I  know  'em  well,  those  "  statements,"  and  pointed  out 
to  him  that  it  showed  due  to  him  $102.95  which  he 
could  get  for  asking.  We  further  turned  this  sum 
into  pounds  for  him  to  understand,  then  laid  my  two 
guineas  on  his  desk  and  departed.  Stevens  remarked 
he  thought  of  saying  that  our  charge  for  information 
was  also  two  guineas,  but  we  didn't.  We  stopped 
to  order  a  sprayer  for  my  throat ;  and  in  due  time  all 
my  drugs  came  home  from  "the  stores"  where 
Stevens  ordered  them.  Let  me  hasten  to  say  that 
they  have  cured  me  finely,  and  that  I  am  all  well  now, 
really,  so  you  must  not  worry  at  all.  It  was  just  one 
of  my  throats,  and  the  remedies  were  excellent.  Sev- 
eral things  in  the  cure  I  think  highly  of,  viz.:  he 
told  me  to  stay  in  three  days  and  that  I  should  be 
well  in  three  days,  and  all  the  drugs  were  apportioned 
in  doses  for  three  days,  now  they  are  all  used  up,  and 
I  am  well,  and  there's  no  further  question  about 
going  on  with  them,  because  there  ain't  any  more 
stuff,  it 's  only  to  throw  away  the  empty  bottles.  .  .  . 
It 's  quite  a  wonderful  cure,  but  you  know  I  am  great 
on  recuperation.  So  that's  all  that.  .  .  . 

SUSIE. 

To  Miss  LUCKETIA  P.  HALE 

AJACCIO,  LA  CORSE,  January  31,  1891. 
DEAR  LUC.,  —  We  are  certainly  having  the  best  fun 
any  two  Susans  ever  devised.  Perhaps  you  didn't 
know  we  were  coming  here ;  in  fact,  I  believe  I  have 
never  mentioned  any  plan  or  change  of  plan,  so  may 
as  well  say  here,  that  little  Susan  on  the  Atlantic 
voyage  found  out  she  didn't  want  to  settle  down  in 
Florence  for  the  winter,  which  was  the  parents'  plan ; 
so  we  decided  for  Sicily  and  the  top  of  Africa,  to 


258    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

my  great  content.  As  all  the  Continent  is  fiendish 
cold,  we  did  wisely,  for  it  is  very  cheerless  all  over, 
so  that  seeking  warmth  alone  would  have  driven  us 
forth.  Then  I  found  one  day  that  we  could  get  to 
Palermo  this  way,  and  here  we  are.  I  have  always 
been  longing  to  see  Corsica.  I  wrote  from  Cannes 
to  the  British  Consul  here,  there  is  no  American  one 
(see  Baedeker),  to  ask  him  if  it  were  safe,  and  he 
wrote  back  a  very  nice  note  saying  there  were  no 
bandits  these  twenty  years,  and  theft  and  robberies 
unknown,  —  also  recommending  this  hotel.  So  off 
we  came,  though  Goddards  and  Legays  shrugged 
their  heads  and  wagged  their  shoulders  and  said, 
"  There  was  nothing  to  see  in  Ajaccio,  which  was  all 
there  was  in  Corsica."  .  .  . 

Having  packed  and  said  farewell,  on  Wednesday 
(28th  January),  we  started  after  coffee  in  a  two- 
horse  open  carriage,  all  our  malles  strapped  on  be- 
fore and  behind,  and  us  sitting  in  a  nest  in  the  midst 
of  them.  Proprietor  Neef  hurried  from  the  market 
to  press  flowers  in  our  hands,  hyacinths,  violets,  roses, 
pinks  and  mimosa,  and  off  we  went  trot-trot  for  Nice, 
three  hours  along  the  Corniche,  although  it  don't 
much  begin  to  be  called  so  till  the  other  side  Monte 
Carlo.  (These  places  I  knew  before  on  account  of 
the  yacht,  and  Susan  spent  a  summer  at  Mentone 
when  she  was  seven. )  I  must  be  brief  about  all  this ; 
the  drive  was  lovely,  we  approached  Nice,  the  curved 
shore  all  built  with  glaring  white  houses,  and  saw  no 
ships,  no  vapeurs,  no  wharf,  concluded  we  should  have 
to  give  it  up.  But  by  driving  on  discovered  at  the 
end  of  the  town  the  port  let  in  at  a  slit  as  it  were, 
and  all  the  shipping  thus  concealed  from  the  Prome- 
nade Anglais  where  Fashion  walks  abroad,  as  with 
us  at  Cannes  on  "  la  Plage."  We  hated  Nice,  I  al- 
ways did,  great  big  staring  town,  chock  full  of  Ameri- 
cans ;  but  we  lunched  at  the  Zenith  of  Swealth,  called 


MATUNTJCK,  EUROPE,  CALIFORNIA     259 

"  London  House/'  which  Welds  and  I  frequented. 
We  had  a  delicious  lunch  (it  cost  six  dollars,  without 
eating  much,  but  there  were  waiters  with  buttons  and 
without,  a  chef  and  a  Tiger,  and  music,  which  was 
extra),  while  gaudily  hatted  girls  at  other  tables  pro- 
claimed their  birth  by  shrieking  through  the  nose, 
and  a  young  man  astonished  us  by  his  moustache 
actually  curled  in  ringlets.  To  fill  up  the  time  we 
drove  after  lunch  to  Villefranche,  where  the  yacht 
used  to  lie,  then  at  four-thirty  betook  ourselves  to 
the  Quai  Lunel  where  vapeur  Perseverant  was  lying 
bound  for  Bastia.  Papa  and  Nelly  will  know  the 
kind  of  ship,  from  Spanish  trips,  and  you,  my  dear, 
going  to  Brindisi,  only  this  was  smaller  than  most. 
We  had  the  ladies'  cabin,  along  with  a  young  Corsi- 
can  lady  travelling  with  her  uncle,  a  priest.  She  was 
sick  all  night,  and  told  us  her  history,  like  the 
Princess  Cynecia,  in  the  morning.  It  was  after  sun- 
set as  we  steamed  out  of  the  slit,  and  saw  the  gay 
lights  of  Monte  Carlo  afar  off.  We  dined  on  board, 
oh,  such  fun,  with  the  captain,  and  four,  no,  five, 
men ;  we  all  began  to  talk  like  brothers ;  this  is  Cor- 
sican  manners  and  most  agreeable.  They  all  speak 
French,  though  they  prefer  a  jargon  of  Genoese  and 
Phoenician;  they  are  most  polite  and  courtly  to  us, 
and  seem  to  love  each  other,  but  they  are  violent,  just 
as  in  books ;  they  fly  in  a  rage,  contradict,  almost  stab 
each  other  over  the  simple  question,  what  time  it  is ; 
calm  down  again  in  a  minute.  (Once  in  an  omnibus 
going  from  station  to  hotel  they  all  got  telling  us 
about  Ajaccio.  One  mentioned  (as  it  were)  Wash- 
ington Street,  another  Boylston  Street;  all  yelling  at 
the  top  of  their  lungs;  one  said  (unluckily)  that  was 
all  the  streets,  the  others  fell  on  him  and  reviled  him 
for  saying  that  was  all ;  in  the  midst  a  lady  shrieked, 
"  You  've  forgotten  Beacon  Street !  "  This  calmed 
them  for  a  moment,  and  there  was  utter  silence.  Then 


260    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

I  changed  the  conversation  by  asking  if  there  was 
snow  in  Corsica,  and  they  began  again.  We  were 
scared  at  first,  but  soon  found  they  meant  well.  Just 
exactly  like  boiled  milk  (my  favourite  simile),  up 
and  down  again  in  a  minute.  This  happened  in 
Corte,  —  I  now  go  back  to  the  boat.)  After  dinner 
the  captain,  and  a  blond  we  most  unjustly  call  the 
"  Turk,"  were  very  gallant  and  took  us  up  on  the 
passerelle  (captain's  bridge),  where  we  prattled  with 
them  till  the  moon  rose  —  then  to  bed,  and  slept  well. 
At  six,  we  reached  Bastia,  this  was  Thursday  29,  and 
saw  the  sunrise  while  our  malles  were  pulled  up  from 
the  hold.  Our  effects  and  those  of  the  Turk  were  all 
put  on  a  charrette  by  a  nice  woman,  who  afterwards 
dragged  the  whole  thing,  with  some  aid  from  a  boy, 
across  the  town  to  the  go/re.  He  did  the  most  of  the 
real  pulling,  but  she  often  did.  There  we  got  coffee, 
had  an  awful  panic  about  Susan's  valise,  which  was 
missing,  we  feared  stolen,  the  chef  de  la  gare  and 
all  Bastia  got  interested,  all  polite,  gentlemenly,  de- 
voted. It  turned  up  to  our  immense  relief.  It  had 
got  mixed  up  with  the  Turk's  things,  and  was  taken 
to  his  hotel.  As  soon  as  he  saw  it,  he  sent  the  boy 
back  with  it  to  us ;  then  dressed  (he  was  in  his  bath), 
and  flew  himself  to  the  station  to  make  sure  we  had 
it;  it  spoils  this  story  to  cut  it  short;  we  were  objects 
of  greatest  interest,  and  recommended  by  the  chef 
all  along  the  line  in  consequence.  He  assured  us 
from  the  first  it  wasn't  stolen.  Thefts  never  take 
place  in  Corsica ;  all  the  whole  corps  dramatique 
(for  it  is  all  just  like  the  stage  here)  shook  hands 
with  us  heartily  when  it  turned  up.  And  so  off  for 
Corte. 

Now  you  must  know  there  is  a  railroad  over  the 
island  from  Bastia  to  Ajaccio,  only  it  is  not  done. 
We  knew  this;  there's  a  bit  of  diligence  in  the 
middle;  but  we  were  aghast,  on  the  boat,  when  they 


MATUmiCK,  EUROPE,  CALIFORNIA    261 

all  informed  us  that  so  much  snow  was  on  the  moun- 
tains nothing  had  come  through  for  days !  Snow 
don't  surprise  you  in  January,  but  we  were  used  to 
roses  and  sunshine  for  a  week  or  two.  Still  we 
pushed  on  to  Corte  (you  'd  better  get  a  map  and  see 
how  it  is),  for  the  Turk  told  us  Hotel  Paoli  was 
good.  And  there  we  arrived  in  time  for  lunch,  at  a 
funny  hotel,  in  a  strange  old  town  sliding  down  a 
precipice,  with  a  citadel  built  by  Spanish  viceroys 
(1440) — home  of  Paoli,  last  stronghold  of  his  re- 
bellion, etc.  (I  move  out  of  the  sun  which  is  too 
hot.)  Most  picturesque  place.  Our  two  rooms 
opened  out  of  a  dark  banqueting  hall  with  a  huge 
fireplace  in  i.t,  roots  of  Salvator  Rosa's  trees  burning 
there.  Bare  floors,  but  comfortable  beds.  The  gar- 
gon  (who  was  one  of  the  squabblers  in  the  bus  just 
described)  stopped  between  passing  plates,  to  explain 
"  la  vendetta."  He  says  it  is  amongst  their  mceurs, 
and  means  that  they  se  tuent  en  famille  on  occasion, 
but  never  strangers.  This  was  reassuring.  Indeed 
they  are  sweet  folks,  not  at  all  alarming.  A  most 
imposing  old  chief  of  the  poste,  like  Oliver  Peabody, 
arranged  for  our  Friday  morning  caleche,  which 
brought  us  through  to  the  railroad.  It  was  a  grand 
drive  through  a  difficult  pass  up  over  high  mountains, 
like  Via  Mala,  any  of  those,  plenty  snow,  — but  cork, 
pine,  laurels  all  green,  and  shrubs  almost  in  blossom, 
wild,  grand,  like  Pyrenees.  We  lunched  at  Vivario, 
and  watched  the  villagers  strolling  up  and  down ;  the 
men  are  very  handsome,  and  their  top-boots  (not 
india-rubber)  redeem  the  deplorable,  modern,  long 
trousers.  The  women  do  all  the  work,  brought  down 
our  trunks  on  their  heads !  The  R.  R.  gare  at  Viz- 
zuona  is  a  mere  temporary  stopping-place  in  the 
woods ;  all  the  last  hour  we  were  driving  through 
deep  snow-cuts;  we  passed  a  ruined  shanty  for  the 
R.  R.  workmen  which  had  lately  been  wrecked  by 


262    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

an  avalanche.  It  was  cold  at  the  go/re,  two  hours  to 
wait ;  we  went  into  a  small  restaurant  and  had  coffee 
in  front  of  another  huge  fireplace.  Two  friendly 
men  sate  with  us,  while  they  warmed  a  sausage  in 
the  flames,  put  it  on  hunks  of  bread,  and  ate  it  with 
their  jack-knives,  which  they  called  "  coltelles"  (cross 
between  French  and  Italian) .  They  offered  us  some,  — 
but  we  had  lunched.  Then  from  4  to  7  P.  M.  in  R.  R. 
a  "salon"  car  which  held  eight  of  us,  one  Madame 
Marchi,  of  Ajaccio,  who  is  very  friendly.  We  all 
prattled  all  the  way.  A  caleche  brought  us  to  this 
charming,  clean,  luxurious  hotel  —  a  balcony  opens 
on  a  close-at-hand  view,  of  sea,  mountain,  and  sky. 
It  was  dark.  "  What  is  that  opposite  ?  "  we  asked. 
"  It  is  the  garden  of  the  British  Consul."  Continued 
in  my  next. 

Yrs., 
SUSIE. 

To  Miss  LUCEETIA  P.  HALE 

PALERMO,  February  23,  1891. 

Monday,  8 : 30  A.  M. 

DEAR  LUC.,  —  I  must  seize  the  early  morning  joy- 
fulness  to  begin  you  this  letter.  It  is  warm!  The 
sun  which  I  saw  rise,  from  my  bed,  a  little  while 
ago,  is  slanting  over  my  balcony,  and  acting  like  a 
stove.  All  the  Mediterranee  is  before  me,  —  Monte 
Pellegrino,  looking  like  Gibraltar,  on  the  left,  and 
a  more  remote  headland  on  the  right.  Below,  an 
esplanade,  broad  driveway,  and  stone  parapet  run- 
ning round  the  sea.  This  is  "  la  Marina,"  the  fashion- 
able parade  of  the  Palermitans,  but  until  this  mo- 
ment it  has  been  so  dashed  and  washed  and  blown 
and  snowed  upon  as  to  be  deserted.  You  see  we  have 
changed  our  rooms  to  the  sea-front,  and  are  very 
happy.  I  can't  help  feeling  that  the  sun  rises  in  the 
west,  I  am  all  turned  round,  for  the  exposure  seems 


MATUMJCK,  EUKOPE,  CALIFOKNIA    263 

just  like  Ajaccio  and  Cannes  (also  Matunuck) ,  where 
the  sun  rises  on  our  left,  but  here  in  this  north-facing 
harbour,  it  conies  up  on  my  right.  No  consequence 
s'long  as  it  is  so  nice  and  warming. 

Yesterday  I  had  yours  of  February  8  (just  a  fort- 
night coming)  in  which  you  had  two  from  me.  .  .  . 
We  enjoy  your  mystification  about  Ajaccio,  all  the 
Day  persuasion  were  in  similar  fog,  but,  my  dear, 
you  ought  to  have  remembered  that  Bonaparte  was 
born  there!  Cagliari  I  shouldn't  expect  anyone  to 
know  about.  .  .  . 

When  I  leave  here,  I  'm  going  to  mail  you  a  charm- 
ing book  about  Sicily  in  Italian,  I  think  you  will  like 
to  have  it  read  to  you,  skippingly.  It  is  by  one 
Schuregaus,  German,  but  I  read  the  Italian  transla- 
tion here,  for  practice  in  the  right  tongue.  See  if 
old  "Schondorff"  has  got  "Une  Gageure,"  by  Cherbu- 
liez,  1889  ;  it  is  a  really  charming,  a  very  clever  novel, 
of  course,  French  in  its  treatment  of  love.  .  .  . 

I  wrote  a  fat  letter  to  Comm.  Adv.  yesterday, 
"No.  VI.  It  will  be  terrible  if  they  don't  print  them ! 
It  described  our  trip  Friday  to  Segesta  and  Seli- 
monte.  All  the  week  has  been  charming,  though 
cold,  windy,  bad  weather,  but  we  did  something  al- 
most every  day.  The  sights  of  Palermo  are  all  good, 
and  not  fatiguing.  Tuesday  we  spent  up  at  Monreale 
where  are  the  beautiful  mosaics,  time  of  Normans, 
church  all  lined  with  them,  charming  old  cloister  of 
Moorish  columns,  like  Spain,  dreamy  garden  over- 
looking the  lovely  plain  of  Palermo,  called  Conca 
de  Oro,  and  literally  gold  with  oranges  on  the  trees. 

Wednesday,  we  drove  P.  M.  to  La  Favorita,  ugly 
Chinese  villa  built  by  the  Bourbon,  Ferdinand  I  of 
two  Sicilies,  time  of  French  Eevolution.  I've  got 
a  delicious  sort  of  Saint  Simon  gossipy  book  about 
these  Spanish  Bourbons  by  the  old  Dumas,  but  in 
Italian !  It  is  rich,  all  about  Nelson,  Emma  Hamil- 


264         LETTERS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

ton,  Acton,  etc.,  etc.  Do  you  know  about  such 
things  ? 

Meanwhile  we  were  getting  friendly  with  the 
Smiths,  and  we  all  agreed  to  do  the  Segesta-Selimonte 
trip  together.  It  took  two  days,  from  3  A.  M.  ! 
Friday  to  ten  Saturday  night,  during  which  time  we 
became  very  intime,  and  like  each  other  much.  Mrs. 
Smith  is  a  handsome  woman  of  fifty-nine.  They  are 
Quakers  and  "thee"  each  other,  the  mother  and 
daughter,  who  is  a  regular  charmer,  twenty-four.  .  .  . 
They  have  come  all  to  adore  me,  and  our  two  girls 
have  struck  quite  a  friendship.  They  live  in  Lon- 
don, because  the  other  daughter  has  married  Cos- 
tello,  M.  P.,  and  a  Catholic!  —  and  Pa  Smith  has 
bought  an  estate  there,  and  there 's  a  son.  But  Alice 
has  been  over  at  Bryn  Mawr,  and  is  going  later  to 
Girton  to  study.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  The  crucial  moment  of  the  trip  was  on  Friday 
about  noon,  when  we  came  to  a  swollen  stream,  on 
foot,  with  no  visible  means  of  crossing.  I  gave  the 
example  of  mounting  a  pack-horse  which  came  along 
led  by  native  Sicilians,  by  means  of  a  man's  knee 
and  a  rope-stirrup.  There  was  great  applause  as  I 
rode  across  the  torrent,  straddle  on  a  high  pack- 
saddle,  the  man  behind  me,  also,  on  the  same  horse, 
driving  him  by  a  rope  at  the  mouth  of  the  beast 
passed  across  me  to  him  behind.  Then  Mrs.  Smith, 
who  is  more  cumbrous  even  than  I  am,  though  full 
of  pluck,  was  shoved  and  pushed  up  on  the  same  ani- 
mal, which  returned  with  her.  Susan  scrambled  on 
top  of*  a  donkey  and  drove  him  over  herself  with  great 
prowess,  while  Miss  Smith,  and  Lozer,  found  a  place 
they  got  over  by  means  of  a  fallen  tree  and  crawling 
on  stomachs.  This  caused  great  jollity,  and  I  have 
made  a  picture  of  Mrs.  Smith  mounting,  which  she 
will  send  off  to  America  in  a  "  circular  letter  "  all  her 
friends  will  see.  I  wonder  if  the  ripple  of  it  will 


MATUNUCK,  EUROPE,  CALIFORNIA    265 

reach  us  again,  she  is  Philadelphia,  you  know,  so  it 
may!  Those  Greek  ruins  are  intensely  interesting. 
You  know  I  was  in  fevers  to  do  all  this  with  the  yacht, 
but  the  Welds  didn't  care  to.  Now  I  am  satisfied, 
and  well  repaid.  The  country  is  bare,  but  the  shore 
always  beautiful,  only  cold,  my  dear,  as  Greenland 
still,  and  snowing  at  Segesta.  .  .  . 

Yours, 

SUSE. 

To  MRS.  WILLIAM  G.  WEU> 

MATTTNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  June  15, 1891. 

.  .  .  Why  did  n't  you  stop  at  Kingston  ?  Do  it 
the  next  time.  Just  ask  great  big  stationmaster 
Taber  —  he  will  beetle  down  over  you  like  an  over- 
hanging crag  or  Phillips  Brooks  —  to  send  you  over 
to  Miss  Susy's.  This  is  not  a 
house,  but  your  Vouillet  trunk. 

Charlotte  Hedge  is  here,  and 
very  delightful.  We  talk  of  old 
days  and  old  Brookliners,  and 
laugh  over  their  romances  and 
finales,  and,  strange  to  say, 
seem  to  think  we  are  about  as 
well  off.  in  body,  mind,  and  es- 
tate as  the  others  of  our  con- 
temporaries. She  is  greatly 
troubled  by  people  being  dead  without  her  knowing 
it,  which  she  considers  a  rudeness  on  their  part.  I 
have  therefore  suggested  leaving  Lizzie  Fisher  (Mrs. 
P.  Everett)  one  hundred  dollars  in  my  will  to  send 
my  P.  P.  C.  cards  all  round  after  my  demise.  Good 
plan? 

Annie  Bursley  sends  her  regards  to  you  and  wishes 
you  might  come  over  to  see  us  and  the  laurel  while 
she  is  here.  The  laurel,  by  the  way,  is  about  to  be 


266    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

glorious,   just  coming  out  like  pop-corn   in  genial 
warmth. 

My  Robert  is  coming  down  Saturday,  and,  oh !  my 
dear  Edward,  Jr.,  who  you  should  remember  has 
just  returned,  full  of  meat  and  absolutely  delightful, 
talking  philology  and  nonsense  with  equal  fluency. 
He  is  enraptured  to  be  at  home  after  the  seriousness 
of  Germany.  But  I  must  be  where  ?  Kitchen  or 
garret  ?  Each  calls.  (There  is  really  nothing  for  din- 
ner to-day,  unless  a  miracle  brings  a  steak  from 
Wakefield.  The  fish-man  passed  me  coldly  by,  and 
we  ate  up  the  leavings  of  yesterday,  for  breakfast. 
I  have  n't  told  these  dames,  my  guests,  and  still  hope 
something  will  turn  up.) 

Yours, 
SUSY. 

To  Mus.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

SANTA  BARBAEA,  CALIFOENIA, 
February  23,  1892. 

DEAREST  CAROLINE,  —  You  are  a.  daisy !  Your 
valentine  came  yesterday,  and  I  will  respond  with 
this  Little  Hatchet.  This  joke,  of  course,  refers  to 
G.  Washington,  on  whose  birthday  yours  arrived.  I 
have  no  letters  to  speak  of,  so  yours  was  like  water 
in  the  wilderness.  .  .  . 

Now  about  me,  I  am  equally  horrid  about  writing, 
for  there  is  no  time  to  do  it.  I  have  thought  you  a 
million  letters,  but  until  Edison  invents  a  morning 
pillow  which  receives  and  transmits  the  early  idea, 
I  shall  never  be  a  good  correspondent.  Lots  to  tell 
you.  Don't  know  where  to  begin.  The  Hales  have 
reams  of  annals,  for  I  write  them  constantly.  I  've 
just  got  through  the  San  Francisco  campaign.  A 
month  there  very  well  managed  by  some  friends  of 
Nelly's,  who  took  me  on  her  account  and  cherished 
me  on  my  own.  Great  "  social  success."  Same  "  Old 


MATOTUCK,  EUEOPE,  CALIFORNIA    26T 

Readings,"  new  here,  of  course,  where  they  never 
before  heard  of  Sir  Charles  Grandison.  I  had  three 
sets  of  readings  and  took  in  six  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars.  So  you  see  I  did  n't  come  to  ruin,  as  I  feared 
when  I  left  you.  .  .  .  They  pay  here  in  delightful 
round  gold  pieces,  all  shiny  and  fat.  I  love  to  play 
with  them  and  part  from  them  with  anguish,  which 
makes  me  a  sort  of  miser.  Still  I  always  have  a  little 
bag  full  about  me,  and  there's  prospect  of  more. 
Well,  I  was  nearly  killed  by  kindness  in  San  F.  .  .  . 
San  Francisco  has  excellent  shops.  I  bought  some 
feather  trimming  to  put  around  myself  with  good 
effect,  —  and  have  done  wonders  in  the  varied  scenery 
and  decorations  of  an  old  bonnet,  in  addition  to  my 
*ood  one.  Six  pairs  of  Paris  gloves  did  the  rest,  and 
[  'm  told  they  liked  my  feet.  You  will  forgive  these 
extreme  details,  being  the  only  person  besides  myself 
who  takes  any  interest  in  my  personal  adornment.  .  .  . 
Well  I  wallowed  in  a  sea  of  Unitarians,  Presby- 
tarians,  Episcopals,  Baptists,  infidels.  My  chief  joy 
was  hawking  about  in  cable-cars,  the  greatest  fun  in 
the  world,  and  having  California  oysters  at  the  ex- 
cellent restaurant  of  the  "Palace."  Such  was  San 
Francisco.  I  escaped  from  it  with  my  life,  and 
after  an  interval  of  repose  at  charming  Monterey, 
the  Del  Monte  Hotel,  where  they  have  a  glorious 
seventeen-mile  drive  by  the  Pacific,  I  returned  to 
this  spot.  Santa  Barbara  is  the  most  peaceful,  placid 
little  hole  in  the  earth's  surface.  It  is  very  beauti- 
ful, no  doubt,  but  cocky!  Lord,  if  you  hint  that 
the  historic  interests  of  Sicily  are  perhaps  more 
ancient  than  the  post-office  here,  they  go  to  moult 
in  a  corner.  'T  is  the  valley  of  Rasselas,  and  those 
who  are  really  here  never  get  out,  and  don't  want  to 
get  out.  .  .  .  The  climate  is  perfect.  By  the  way, 
you  have  been  here.  That 's  a  mercy,  for  you  know 
how  it  looks,  and  I  need  n't  go  on  telling  you. 


268    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

And  here  are  charming  people.  .  .  .  Anna  Blake 
looking  well  and  handsome.  It  is  an  enchanting 
place,  and  I  am  possessed  all  the  time  I  am  here  with 
a  longing  to  be  somewhere  else. 

Now  we  are  going  elsewhere,  immediately,  to  Los 
Angeles,  to  Pasadena,  to  San  Diego,  where  the  dear 
Nordhoffs  are,  and  then  I  make  my  way  to  the  north, 
and  climb  along  to  Portland,  Tacoma,  etc.,  and  home 
by  the  Canadian  Pacific,  which  is  said  to  be  the  most 
beautiful  of  all  the  routes.  I  have  abandoned  my 
nephew's  wedding,  which  is  for  April  5.  It  makes 
me  sick  to  do  this,  especially  as  I  am  just  now  wild 
to  cut  the  whole  thing  and  go  home,  —  but  this  would 
be  foolish,  for  they  have  arranged  for  me  to  make  a 
pot  of  money  at  Los  Angeles,  and  I  'd  better  do  this 
region  up  thoroughly  while  I  am  here.  I  shall  give 
March  to  southern  California,  be  in  San  F.  again 
early  in  April,  for  one  or  two  winding-up  things, 
then  off  and  home  before,  or  on,  May  1.  ... 

YOUR  LOVING  SUSY. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  April  3,  1892. 
.  .  .  Since  this  letter  I  have  yours  about  Aunt  J.'s 
legacy.  I  have  already  laid  it  out  in  countless  ways, 
in  my  mind,  —  my  ruling  idea  is  to  put  it  in  my 
bank  and  keep  spending  the  whole  of  it.  I  mean 
whenever  I  want  one  hundred  dollars  for  any  frivo- 
lous or  philanthropic  purpose,  I  shall  just  say,  "  I  '11 
do  that  with  Aunt  Jane's  legacy."  There  probably 
will  always  be  one  hundred  dollars  there,  and  I  can 
always  thus  call  it,  so  keeping  her  memory  green. 
Don't  this  strike  you  as  a  good  investment?  Better 
than  ten  per  cent.  .  .  . 

Yours, 

SUSE. 


MATUNUCK,  EUROPE,  CALIFORNIA     269 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

JUST  BEYOND  BUFFALO,  Thursday,  April  28, 1892. 
(Time  the  same  as  yours.) 

DEAR  LUC.,  —  While  I  was  breakfasting,  they 
changed  to  eastern  time,  and  my  watch  is  now  right ! 
You  know  I  have  kept  it  at  Boston  time,  and  com- 
puted the  difference,  but  now,  lo  and  behold,  nine 
meant  nine.  I  should  have  kissed  it,  but  for  the 
public  position,  in  a  dining-car.  To-night  I  reach 
New  York,  and  a  steady  bed,  at  Nelly  Blodgett's, 
24  West  12th  Street.  So  now,  why  not  wind  up 
these  memoirs,  especially  as  I  want  to  tell  you  about 
a  beast  there  was  in  Chicago, — but  this  train  is 
fearful  wobbly,  as  it  is  the  famous  limited,  and  we 
are  going  lickity-split.  .  .  . 

Tuesday,  it  became  clear  we  should  miss  our  trains 
to  connect  with  Chicago.  Thus  I  had  the  day  to 
spend  in  St.  Paul,  —  and  what's  more,  four  dollars 
more  for  a  sleeper  that  night.  This  was  not  the 
Canadian  Pacific's  fault,  but  the  St.  Paul-Chicago 
R.  R.'s,  for  changing  their  time  since  my  ticket 
was  issued.  I  was  not  loathe  to  see  St.  Paul  and 
after  writing  Parber  and  Nelly,  I  sallied  forth  into 
a  great  big  town  which  seemed  like  London  after 
the  crudeness  of  the  Pacific  coast.  Brick  houses !  • — 
real  side-walks  (instead  of  wood  planking).  Carts 
in  the  crooked  streets !  Omnibuses !  cabs !  There 
are  cables,  and  electrics,  but  these  haven't  entirely 
driven  out  the  horse,  as  on  the  Pacific  slope.  I 
mounted  a  cable,  took  a  transfer,  and  went  some  one 
hundred  miles  or  so  out  into  the  suburbs.  It  must 
be  very  pretty  in  the  spring  and  summer.  Great 
Mississippi  rolling  through  the  town,  and  overhung 
by  pretty  houses  on  cliffs.  The  fashion  of  the  suburbs 
took  my  car,  on  return,  to  do  their  shopping.  A 
)ung  girl  had  Epigcea  stuck  in  her  waist,  and  had 


270    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

given  some  to  her  young  man  for  his  button-hole. 
"  No,  they  don't  grow  here,  they  were  sent  me  from 
Wisconsin,"  she  replied  to  my  question.  I  thought 
she  might  have  given  me  one,  but  she  didn't.  She 
had  a  practice  of  running  her  tongue  out  to  catch 
her  little  spotted  veil,  and  sucking  it,  but  no  chewing- 
gum.  This  trip  would  n't  last  but  an  hour,  —  still  it 
was  about  time  to  lunch,  so  I  found  McVeigh's,  de- 
scribed as  the  swell  place,  by  a  porter  at  the  station. 
Here  I  found  that  if  I  ordered  pot-pie,  —  they  would 
throw  in  bread  and  butter,  coffee,  and  a  piece  of  any 
other  kind  of  pie  I  chose,  all  for  25  cents.  This  is 
the  only  cheap  lunch  I  have  had  since  leaving  home. 
I  would  then  have  strolled  about,  for  the  shop  win- 
dows were  large  and  interesting,  but  it  was  pouring 
and  blowing  great  guns.  My  umbrella  was  turned 
wrong-side  out,  and  my  only  feet  were  getting  wet, 
so  I  beat  a  retreat  to  the  station  —  two  o'clock  and 
nothing  but  to  wait  till  seven-thirty !  Five  and  one- 
half  hours,  —  in  all  from  7:30  A.M.  to  7:30  P.M., 
twelve  hours,  —  in  the  Ladies'  Waiting  Room,  that 
fascinating  retreat!  I  must  say  that  Union  Station 
at  St.  Paul  is  the  best  managed  I  ever  saw.  To  be 
sure  I  never  stayed  so  long  in  any  other.  It  swarmed 
with  emigrants  the  whole  time,  coming  and  depart- 
ing, eating  oranges  and  bananas  and  throwing  the 
skins  on  the  floor;  a  quiet  woman,  mistress  of  cere- 
monies, answers  their  questions,  and  an  excellent 
coloured  porter  swept  the  place  every  fifteen  minutes 
or  so.  I  bought  a  rotten  novel,  at  the  stall,  and  read 
it  all,  took  several  strolls,  washed  my  hands  often, 
ate  an  orange.  Oh,  my  dear !  Oranges  are  delicious 
since  leaving  California,  I  think  they  must  be  Flori- 
das, — large,  sweet,  with  a  delightful  odour.  The 
California  oranges  have  no  smell  nor  taste.  But  I 
really  got  rattled  from  sheer  fatigue,  sitting  on  a 
hard  settee,  in  my  bonnet  so  consecutively,  with  the 


MATUNTJCK,  EUROPE,  CALIFORNIA    271 

din  and  roar  of  trains  without,  scuffle  of  feet  within 
(it  was  like  a  ball-room  for  changing  movement) 
and  the  call  of  the  man,  "  Cars  ready  for  Rabble- 
gabble- jabble-habble,  change  for  Mississippy-nippy 
b-b-by ; "  a  dusky  porter  loved  me,  and  at  last  came 
and  brought  me  to  the  gate,  and  by  and  by  I  was  let 
through  to  my  train. 

This  was  a  delicious  "Manns  Boudoir"  and  why 
on  earth  they  don't  always  have  'em  I  can't  make  out, 
but  I  'm  told  they  are  not  popular !  A  whole  little 
room  like  a  stateroom  to  myself,  nice  sofa  which 
becomes  bed,  with  door  to  shut  myself  in,  plenty 
room  for  box  (the  Angel),  and  nice  hooks  for  hang- 
ups. Here  I  passed  a  blissful  night,  but  bones  aching 
with  the  constraint  of  hard,  bolt-upright  sitting  all 
day.  So  in  the  morning  at  nine-thirty  on 

Thursday  we  came  to  Chicago,  and  here  a  day  to 
waste,  as  my  train  on  my  ticket  was  5 : 30  p.  M. 
Now  mark  the  contretemps  of  this  day,  I  had  to  go 
to  get  my  sleeper  (telegraphed,  but  not  paid  for, 
from  San  Francisco)  to  a  place  called  66  Clark 
Street.  When  I  came  out,  after  fixing  that  all  right, 
it  was  pouring,  with  thunder  and  lightning,  a  phe- 
nomenon they  don't  have  in  California,  so  I  was 
pleased  to  see  it.  But  the  streets  began  to  run  rivers, 
and  I  had  on  my  tan,  thin  shoes  (another  pair  in 
the  Angel).  I  took  a  hansom  (25  cents),  got 
back  to  the  station,  ransomed  the  Angel  from  the 
parcels  room  (10  cents)  took  it  in  a  cab  (50  cents) 
to  the  Palmer  House,  ordered  a  room  with  bath- 
room ($2),  bought  some  newspapers,  10  cents,  and 
retired  to  a  delightful  wallow  in  bath-tub,  and  bed. 
At  one,  refitted,  I  came  down  to  the  restaurant  and 
had  a  really  civilised  lunch,  $1.50,  well  served. 
If  St.  Paul  had  appeared  like  London,  Chicago 
seemed  Paris,  New  York,  Vienna,  rolled  into  one, 
so  cosmopolitan.  The  Palmer  is  a  fine  hotel,  swarms 


272    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

of  people  coming  and  going,  the  service  of  porters 
and  everybody  prompt  and  perfect.  Cab  with  Angel 
back  to  station,  25  cents.  It  was  now  cleared  up, 
'and  blazing  hot,  sultry,  oppressive,  with  a  howling 
sirocco  that  filled  the  air  with  dust  and  brickbats. 
I  started  to  call  on  the ;  I  did  n't  in  the  morn- 
ing on  acc't  of  the  rain.  Glad  now  I  didn't,  for 
observe  the  sequence.  I  arrived  at  the  familiar  house, 
where  you  know  I  feel  very  much  at  home,  the  door 
was  open,  so  I  walked  in  as  I  rang,  a  servant  came, 

I  turned  into  the  parlour,  saying,  "  Is  Mrs.  at 

home  ? "  "  No,  she  is  not,"  said  a  young  person 
about  twenty-five,  scarcely  rising  from  her  chair, 
treating  me  exactly  as  if  I  were  a  book  agent.  "  I  'm 
sorry  for  that,"  said  I,  "  I  am  Miss  Susan  Hale,  a 
friend  of  hers  from  the  East."  "Is  that  so?"  she 
said,  leaning  back  in  her  chair  again.  I  sate  down 

on  a  hard  little  settee.      "Is  Mrs.   away?" 

"Yes,  she  is  at  a  rest-cure."  "Oh, — has  she  been 
ill?"  I  asked.  "No  — but  she  thought  she  would 
go  for  a  time  to  rest,"  etc.  With  a  corkscrew  I 

elicited  that  Dr.  was  also  out.     "  Excuse  my 

holding  my  handkerchief  in  this  way,"  said  I,  "I 
have  a  large  paving-stone  in  my  eye,  it 's  very  dusty." 
"  Is  that  so  ? "  said  she.  "  Yes,  I  've  been  travelling 
for  ten  days  from  California  and  this  is  my  first 
sight  of  a  friendly  house."  "Indeed?"  She  then 
slowly  rose  from  her  very  comfortable  lounging  chair. 
"  Won't  you  take  my  seat  ?  You  may  be  tired." 
"  Thank  you,"  I  said,  accepting  it,  "  it  is  a  good 
while  since  I  have  seen  a  comfortable  chair."  My 
rage  was  now  getting  better  of  my  affections,  and  I 
soon  rose  to  go,  —  she  made  no  effort  to  detain  me. 

"  Tell  Dr. I  am  sorry  to  miss  him ;  Miss  Susan 

Hale,  tell  him,  please."  "  Oh,  yes,  I  know  who  you 
are,"  she  said,  "good  morning,"  and  before  I  was 
out  of  the  house,  she  was  back  in  the  good  chair 


MATUNUCK,  EUROPE,  CALIFORNIA    273 

with  her  book.  Did  you  ever !  There  was  more,  as 
I  have  abridged  this,  but  all  to  the  same  purpose.  I 
cried  a  little  when  I  found  myself  alone,  from  rage 
and  sheer  fatigue.  Did  you  ever  know  such  brutal 
treatment,  a  dog  who  had  been  so  long  travelling 
would  have  deserved  more  kindness.  I  just  hope 

that  when  Dr.  came  in  he  was  wild  with  rage. 

She  never  dreamed  of  asking  me  what  station  I  was 
at,  or  when  my  train  was  going.  While  I  was  sit- 
ting there  a  transfer  cart  drove  up  with  a  trunk,  she 
and  the  maid  much  surprised.  She  glanced  at  me 
suspiciously;  "Oh,  it's  not  my  trunks,"  said  I 
sharply,  "  they  have  gone  on  to  New  York  before 
me."  Now  did  you  ever,  —  who  can  she  be?  Some 

young  relative  they  have  taken  on  in  Mrs.  's 

absence.  I  went  back  into  the  hideous  streets,  such 
a  sirocco  was  blowing  that  people  hid  themselves  in 
doorways,  or  I  should  have  gone  to  the  Art  Institute 
to  hunt  up  my  dear  French,  Daniel's  brother,  the 
curator  there,  but  instead  threw  myself  into  a  car 
and  went  back  to  the  station;  had  been  gone  just 

half  an  hour !    Won't  the be  mad,  if  indeed  the 

girl  tells  them !  And  now  it  was  three-thirty,  and 
two  hours  to  wait  for  my  train  again.  My  very  soul 
loathed  the  "  Ladies'  Waiting  Room,"  which  was 
worse  than  the  other,  the  day  was  so  hot  that  it 
smelled  perspiration  of  emigrant  women-ish.  But  I 
bought  "  David  Grieve,"  which  is  long,  at  any  rate, 
and  sate  myself  down  with  an  orange  again.  Here, 
too,  I  had  a  loving  porter,  Number  9,  who  took  com- 
passion, and  got  me  and  my  box  into  my  sleeper  at 
five,  though  the  train  didn't  go  till  five-thirty.  So 
since  then  I  was  happy,  for  this  is  a  luscious  train, 
with  princely  dining-car;  it  is  fearfully  hot,  though, 
the  thermometer  was  74°  yesterday,  they  say.  Had 
a  bath  at  5  A.  M.  in  the  barber's  shop.  Whenever  I 
think  of  that  girl  I  am  in  a  new  rage.  She  did  n't 


274:        LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

mean  anything,  or  course;  but  how  insolent  she 
was.  ...  So  till  we  meet.  .  .  .  Cast  down  but  still 
fuming. 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  Miss  LTJCRETIA  P.  HALE 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND, 
September  15,  1892. 

DEAR  LUCRETIA,  —  ...  Now  to  my  adventures. 
I  might  just  as  well  have  the  account  engraved  for 
yearly  use,  for  history  so  repeats  itself.  Yesterday 
was  the  day  of  the  Fair,  when  all  Matunuck  is  ut- 
terly abandoned,  and  not  a  thing  can  be  got  or  done 
from  anybody,  —  and  also  as  usual  it  poured  guns  and 
blew  blazes,  the  regular  "  Line  Storm."  The  storm 
began  night  before  in  howling  wind  which  rattled 
and  shook  the  house.  Beamish  was  out  with  his  lame 
foot  (which  is  better),  so  I  was  absolutely  alone  in 
the  house.  About  midnight  began  the  fateful  tunk- 
tunk  of  the  ram  (although  I  had  charged  'Lisha  to 
watch  it).  Absolutely  nothing  to  do,  for  if  I  had 
gone  down  to  Browning's  in  the  howling  blast,  no- 
body there  who  knew  anything,  and  I  feared  to  rouse 
poor  Gerald,  whose  gallantry  would  have  driven  him 
forth.  So  I  just  stayed  in  bed,  trying  to  persuade 
myself  it  was  no  worse  than  a  sleeping-car  or  the 
St.  Paul  R.  R.  station ;  —  of  course  I  slept  off  and 
on,  but  great  gusts  of  wind  would  wake  me  up,  and 
then  the  ram  prevent  my  going  to  sleep  again. 

With  the  first,  grim  glimpse  of  a  stormy  dawn  I 
began  to  walk  the  house,  and  looking  about  for  Beam- 
ish I  descried  the  grey  hoss  bringing  Pa  and  Tom 
Browning  swiftly  along  the  road.  I  ran  to  Nelly's 
window,  opened  it  and  yelled,  "  Mister  Browning !  " 
A  fierce  sleet  of  fine,  slanting  rain  had  just  begun 


MATUNUCK,  EUROPE,  CALIFORNIA     275 

driving  into  their  faces  and  mine.  Tom,  who  con- 
ceived me  to  be  a  ghost,  with  streaming  hair,  in  my 
night  gown  at  that  unseemly  hour,  flew  up  the  bank. 
I  yelled,  "the  ram,  Tom,  the  ram!"  and  pointed 
towards  the  field.  "  Do  yer  want  me  ter  stop  it  ? " 
"  Yaas !  "  I  cried,  and  he  leaped  over  fences  like  one 
mad,  while  Pa  Browning  "  continnered "  the  hoss 
down  to  their  barn.  Before  I  had  got  rubbed  dry, 
changed  my  night  gown  and  back  to  bed,  the  darned 
thing  had  stopped,  and  all  was  still.  Oh !  the  relief. 
But  now  shortly  Albert,  Louise,  and  Lily  came  upon 
the  scene  for  the  usual  overture  upon  the  kitchen- 
stove,  with  wind  and  stringed  instruments,  accom- 
panied by  the  kerosene  can.  Beamish  came  home, 
dry  as  a  bone.  I  conceived  the  idea  of  a  breakfast 
in  bed,  and  accordingly  Louise  sent  up  a  neat  tray 
with  everything  delicious  on  it.  White  meat  of 
chicken,  a  la  maitre  d'lwtel,  johnny  cake,  fried 
potato,  and  coffee  with  the  best  cream.  I  enjoyed 
it  leisurely,  snoozed,  read  a  French  novel,  snoozed 
again.  Then  slowly  rose  for  my  bath,  dressed, 
dawdling,  and  came  down.  It  was  five  minutes  past 
eight  o'clock ! 

Well,  the  storm  increased  as  day  went  on,  and  by 
noon  was  a  regular  tearer;  the  place  deserted  by 
unlucky  Fair-goers,  no  kerosene  in  the  house,  nobody 
to  get  it.  Gerald  came  up  quite  wild  because  aban- 
doned of  men,  with  no  vegetables  nor  nothing.  When 
the  mail-man  came  he  had  no  mail !  A  letter  I  gave 
him  blew  away,  and  I  had  to  run  round  the  house 
for  it.  Nothing  alive  but  millions  of  flies  from  the 
Pier,  which  infest  everything.  They  have  cleaned  the 
stick-stuff  off  my  stamps.  I  took  Gerald  down  cellar 
to  see  what  could  be  found,  and  gave  him  four  ears 
of  corn  and  a  cucumber,  leaving  three  ears  for  my- 
self, and  two  tomatoes.  The  day  wore  on,  an  excel- 
lent dinner,  but  I  became  so  dog-sleepy  that  I  con- 


276    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

eluded  to  go  to  bed  at  five !  Louise  is  dretf ul  lame 
with  her  rheumatiz,  so  I  invited  her  to  spend  the 
night  in  your  room!  Lily  ran  down  in  my  water- 
proof to  get  their  night  gowns  and  tell  their  family. 
Swam  back,  and  by  dark,  which  set  in  early,  the  house 
was  absolutely  still.  We  all  slept  like  tops,  Beamish 
on  my  bed,  and,  lo !  the  sun  rose  brilliant  this  morn- 
ing, and  'tis  a  glorious  day.  All  Matunuck  astir. 
Cart  with  the  piano-case  up  here  before  breakfast, 
Thomas  J.'s  boy  with  the  goose.  To  be  sure  they  are 
all  off  again  to  the  Fair,  but  anxious  to  keep  us  alive 
before  starting.  I  felt  fresh  and  hungry.  Louise 
slept  finely,  and  is  on  her  legs  again,  Lily  one  great 
stare,  dazed  with  the  luxury  of  your  apartment,  un- 
wonted indeed.  .  .  . 

SUSE. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

WAGNER  VESTIBULED  TRAIN, 
NEW  YORK  AND  CHICAGO  LIMITED, 
NEW  YORK  CENTRAL 

AND 

LAKE  SHORE  ROUTE 

10: 15  A.M.,  Saturday,  February  1+,  1893. 
Ha!  my  dear  Luc.,  here  I  am  again  off  on  my 
travels.  I've  been  so  busy  that  I  really  haven't 
given  a  moment's  thought  to  the  subject,  beyond  at- 
tending to  preliminaries,  so  I  am  quite  surprised  to 
find  myself  started  for  the  long  trip.  .  .  . 

Lots  of  things  I  want  to  tell  about,  but  perhaps 
I  'd  best  give  my  whole  mind  first  to  the  Jarley, 
which  went  off  finely.  I  did  my  hair  in  smooth 
puffs,  it  is  becoming,  and  I  wish  it  were  the  fashion, 
for  I  'm  just  grey  enough  now  to  have  it  pretty.  A 
big  comb  behind.  My  own  new  brocade  coat  over 
a  real  old  quilted  red  petticoat,  belonging  to  Mrs. 


MATTOTUCK,  EUROPE,  CALIFORNIA    27T 

de  Forest's  grandmother,  short,  showed  feet,  a  fichu 
of  Mrs.  Goddard's,  quite  open,  and  a  great  big  minia- 
ture of  Mr.  Jarley  I  borrowed  of  Willy  Poor,  night 
I  dined  there.  Rouge  and  powder  made  me  look 
very  well.  I  had  a  real  old  bonnet,  yellow  satin,  and 
came  out  first  with  it  on,  and  —  "Diana  of  the 
Crossways  "  as  a  cloak,  but  I  laid  these  off  at  once. 
I  made  a  speech  before  the  curtain,  saying  I  was  the 
original  Jarley  but  not  the  first  one,  having  married 
Jarley  after  her  decease.  I  had  a  broad-bordered 
mourning  handkerchief  and  a  big  bag,  lace  mitts. 
This  speech  was  well  received,  the  rooms  were 
crowded;  they  laughed  at  all  the  points  very  well. 
Meanwhile  Munzig  had  trained  and  placed  the  wax- 
works, and  in  the  applause  the  curtains  drew  back 
and  revealed  a  pretty  tableau  of  them  all.  Judge 
Howland  and  Beaman,  the  two  funny  men  of  N".  Y., 
par  excellence,  were  dressed  like  draymen,  in  checked 
suits  and  paper  caps,  to  lift  the  figures  and  dust  'em, 
wind  up,  etc.  They  were  both  very  nice,  en  rapport 
with  me,  perfectly  themselves,  not  acting,  but  saying 
funny  things.  There  was  a  real  hand-organ,  ground 
by  Mr.  Cross,  as  an  Italian.  He  was  n't  a  wax-works. 
They  were :  1,  Bo-peep ;  2,  Mary  had  a  little  Lamb ; 
3,  Diana  (these  all  pretty  girls  of  fashion,  got  up  to 
look  pretty),  Columbus  subdued  by  a  smile  of  Indian 
Maiden,  Paderewski,  Gladstone  and  the  cow  (no 
cow),  and  the  Police  Matron,  Mrs.  Malony,  you  may 
have  read  about  in  the  papers.  The  most  charming 
was  Kelly  (a  young  clubman)  who  danced  like  Car- 
mencita,  dressed  according,  very  graceful  and  pretty. 
These  were  all,  except  Nora  Godwin,  who  at  the  last, 
as  Lorelei,  had  a  little  scene  with  a  tail,  and  fishing 
up  a  drowned  sailor.  We  had  the  curtain  three 
times  with  intermissions,  so  the  thing  was  long 
enough;  —  but  at  the  end  there  were  howls  for 
Jarley,  and  I  sang  "  Coming  through  the  Rye  "  and 


278    LETTEES  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

the  "Lapland"  song.  All  then  demanded  that 
"  Missing  the  Train/'  which  I  had  done  at  Mrs. 
Goddard's,  and  a  banana  was  sent  for  to  Mrs.  Hunt's, 
three  doors  off.  As  I  had  no  costume  or  properties 
for  doing  that,  I  invented  a  yarn  I  have  long  thought 
of,  telling  the  plot  of  a  story  all  mixed  up  so  that 
there  is  no  sense  in  it,  while  I  ate  the  banana.  This 
pleased  them.  Oh,  while  we  were  waiting  for 
the  banana  Howland  and  Beaman  sang  "Johnny 
Smoker  "  —  and  at  the  very  end,  when  we  were  called 
out  once  more,  they  both  shouted  at  once,  "  We  both 
want  to  be  Mr.  Jarley."  It  was  all  easy  and  jolly 
and  like  our  old  charade  doings,  and  everybody  was 
delighted.  Swarms  of  people  came  to  me  after,  at 
a  sumptuous  supper;  't  would  take  a  week  to  re- 
count them  all.  I  was  pretty  tired  but  slept  well,  and 
was  equal  to  my  packing  next  day.  Howland  and 
Beamen  were  awfully  nice  to  me,  and  all  the  rest, 
in  fact,  but  the  rest  are  chiefly  fools  —  of  the  per- 
formers, I  mean.  Mr.  Tod  was  very  nice,  and  so 
in  fact  was  Mrs.  Tod,  a  little  woman  of  fashion,  in 
short,  a  Potter.  Billy  Bobby  Ware  was  there,  stern 
with  me  for  not  letting  him  know  I  was  in  1ST.  Y.  I 
am  sorry  about  that,  forgot  him  at  first,  and  then 
too  much  engulfed  with  engagements.  Nelly  Blod- 
gett  sent  me  an  immense  bunch  of  the  lastest  kind  of 
roses,  to  wear  tied  with  a  broad  pink  ribbon.  I  now 
take  my  koumiss.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSE. 

To  Miss  LFCRETIA  P.  HALE 

CHICAGO,  ILLINOIS,  February  7,  1893. 
DEAR  LUC., —  ...  As  these  people  here  are  roll- 
ing in  wealth  on  both  sides,  it  is  a  luxurious,  hand- 
some house,  with  rugs,  pictures,  servants  ad  lib.,  a 
turbulent  family,  slaves  to  the  telephone,  which  is 


MATUNUCK,  EUROPE,   CALIFORNIA     279 

going  incessantly  —  some  of  them  are  a  little  deaf, 
so  the  key  is  high  on  which  all  conversation  is  pitched. 
It 's  odd,  but  though  this  luxe  is  as  different  as  pos- 
sible from  the  simple  Dr.  Dudley  home,  there's  the 
very  same  flavour  of  Chicago  unrest,,  noise,  racket, 
hurry,  bustle,  no  repose,  no  particular  centre,  outside 
people  pouring  in,  the  family  pouring  out,  everybody 
late  to  meals,  the  father  hurrying  on  the  food,  car- 
riage always  at  the  door,  some  rushing  for  cars  and 
missing  them,  Robert  taking  snap  photographs,  the 
dog  bursting  in  and  breaking  an  expensive  plaque, 
nobody  grumbling  at  anything,  all  very  sunny  and 
happy,  very  well-bred,  polite  to  me,  our  departure 
to-night  a  mere  circumstance  —  such  is  life  in  Chi- 
cago. I  can't  think  the  race  can  stand  it  more  than 
one  hundred  years,  if  so  much.  Meanwhile  it's 
amusing  to  watch.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  Miss  LUCEETIA  P.  HALE 

124  RUSH  STREET,  CHICAGO,  Friday, 
April  28,  1893. 

DEAR  LUCRETIA,  —  Quel  scrimmagio !  we  are  all 
full  of  plans  and  engagements  and  skurrying  to  and 
fro  and  the  "joy  of  eventful  living."  It  is  like 
6  Hamilton  Place  on  the  eve  of  "  Water  Day  "  only 
more  so.  Mrs.  M.  is  a  delightful  hostess  and  just 
throwing  herself  into  a  whole  summer  of  the  fiercest 
hospitality,  and  I  come  in  for  the  first  fruits.  But 
I  must  be  calm  and  mention  that  I  have  got  here,  all 
safe,  and  am  now  nicely  rested.  .  .  . 

The  place  reeks  and  swarms  with  the  just  and  the 
unjust.  .  .  . 

We  went  to  see  the  Fair  grounds  yesterday,  in  the 
carriage,  and,  oh,  my  dear !  it  is  glorious  there.  You 
must  be  tired  of  hearing  of  it.  But  if  you  '11  imagine 


280    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

an  area  as  fine  as  the  whole  of  the  Louvre,  Tuileries, 
Pantheon,  Palais  de  Justice,  Invalides,  with  the 
Seine  thrown  in,  bridges  and  all,  suddenly  spring  up 
in  a  night,  all  of  white  marble,  and  set  down  on  the 
borders  of  the  beautiful  lake,  you  '11  sort  of  under- 
stand. Not  miniature,  or  imitation  looking,  but  the 
real  big  things,  with  real  canals  and  real  gondolas 
floating  about.  Aunt  Maggie  kept  groaning  what  a 
pity  they  are  not  of  permanent  materials,  but  to  my 
mind  there 's  the  very  charm  —  it 's  a  great  bubble 
blown  up  in  honour  of  the  time,  which  will  be  dissi- 
pated when  the  occasion  for  it  has  ceased.  We  only 
saw  the  outside  ensemble,  rolled  about  in  chairs  by 
nice  students  from  universities,  in  blue  coats,  with 
good  manners.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 


CHAPTER   IX 

MATUNUCK,  NEW  YORK,  THE  WEST, 
EUROPE 

(1893-1897) 
To  Miss  LUCKETIA  P.  HALE 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  Monday, 

8 :  30  A.  M.,  May  %%,  1893. 
(Breakfast  done  at  7  o'clock.} 

DEAE  LUCRETIA,  —  Mrs.  Gr.  Child  has  got  eighteen 
little  ducklings,  the  sweetest  things  you  ever  saw. 
Cornelia  says  the  frogs  will  eat  them,  but  the  frogs 
ain't  come  "  aout "  yet,  so  they  are  sailing  about  the 
pond.  I  was  strolling  back  from  Ramses,  where  I 
had  been  to  look  after  the  lady's-slippers ;  they  are 
still  in  bud,  very  small  as  yet,  and  not  many,  —  and 
coming  round  by  Jerry's  cart-track  and  through  the 
G.  Child  barn-yard  I  conversed  with  Walter  Perry, 
who  it  seems  is  a  worthy  soul.  .  .  .  Well  —  "Her 
gawselings,  two  on  'em,  was  took  the  noight  before, 
so  there  ain't  but  four  gawselings  to  be  sailing 
around  the  pond,"  —  four  sponsors,  however,  or 
grandfathers,  or  old  geese,  remain  from  last  year 
with  them.  While  I  was  grieving  for  this,  however, 
he  said,  cheering  up,  "But  th'  old  duck  come  back 
yesterday  with  eighteen  hatched  out !  "  "  Did !  "  said 
Susan. 

"Yes,  yer  know"  (as  if  it  was  in  the  papers), 
"  she  stole  her  nest  last  year  and  brought  home  eight, 
but  now  there 's  eighteen." 

Much  encouraged  by  this  I  was  hurrying  home, 


282    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

when,  lo!  at  their  landing  (this  was  exactly  at  sun- 
set, seven  o'clock),  set  sail  on  the  pond,  the  sweetest 

sight,    little    Ma    duck, 
stay:  let  me  depict, 

their    heads    like   little 

black  knobs,  but  all  pad- 
dling and  steering  and  veering  like  old  crafts.  Ain't 
it  too  bad  the  frogs  will  get  them  ? 

A  change  of  dynasty  occurred  here  at  that  same 
hour,  without  bloodshed.  Exit  Cornelia,  and  vive 
Louise.  This  was  made  to  suit  these  ladies,  Louise 
didn't  "feel  to  come"  before,  and  now  "she  feels 
to  come."  Cornelia  consented  to  come  to  'commer- 
date  Louise,  but  now  she  thinks  Louise  wants  the 
job,  and  besides  her  settin'  hen  requires  her  atten- 
tion, "  for  lor  sakes  they  don't  know  nothin'  abaout 
chickens."  "  They  "  is  Hannah,  Oliver,  and  Frank- 
lin, who  calmly  allowed  a  chicken  to  die  without 
counting  it. 

Cornelia  was  in  fine  form,  and  vastly  entertaining, 
but  Louise,  after  all,  suits  me  better;  she  is  enor- 
mous this  year,  but  well,  and  is  now  carrying  some 
new  pails  up  garret,  with  a  rolling  sort  of  gait,  be- 
seeming to  250  avoirdupois. 

Because  I  went  to  Wakefield  Saturday  alone,  and 
came  home  with  brooms  sticking  out  of  the  wagon, 
pails  piled  behind,  bread,  dish-towels  and  papering 
for  Fullum's  room,  for  Knowles  he 's  selling  out,  and 
has  a  pretty  assortment  of  papers  cheap  —  'Lishe 
and  Alice  will  come  and  paper  to-morrer,  if  Louise 
will  go  down  to  Weedens'  and  help  clean  this  after- 
noon. .  .  . 

YOUK  LOVING  SUSIE. 


MATUNUCK,  NEW  YOKE,  EUROPE  283 

To  MES.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  May  30,  1893. 

DEAR  CAROLINE,  —  When  I  came  back  and  saw  my 
front  stairs,  I  sate  down  on  them  and  laughed,  they 
looked  so  unclothed  after  wading  knee-deep  in  your 
rugs  (like  the  talking  oak,  only  his  were  ferns).  No 
matter  it 's  real  good  here  outdoors,  —  and  so  I  dare- 
say it  is  with  you  to-day,  for  the  sun  has  come  out 
hravely.  Things  were  rather  at  sixes  and  sevens,  the 
bed  taken  down  in  my  room,  and  everything  thrown 
out  of  window,  for  instead  of  beating  the  carpet  and 
putting  it  down  in  my  absence,  Elisha  had  interested 
himself  in  mowing  the  lawn.  Now  new-mown  hay  is 
very  well  in  its  way,  but  you  do  like  a  place  to  put 
your  bonnet.  No  matter  again. 

Mounds  of  letters,  and  loathesome  masses  of  news- 
papers two  mails  old,  like  cold  griddle-cakes. 

It  was  lovely  crossing,  mild  in  spite  of  the  grey, 
and  I  was  fully  busy  thinking  all  about  my  comfort- 
ing visit,  dear,  for  that  is  what  it  was  to  me.  This 
is  all  I'm  going  to  write  now,  for  I  sit  in  chaos. 
Lots  of  love  from 

SUSIE. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  October  %,  1893. 
DEAR  LUC.,  —  Phil,  came  Tuesday,  Cornelia  was 
here  and  in  fine  spirits,  and  cooked  like  a  breeze  the 
succulent  things  in  the  larder.  But,  lo!  on  Thurs- 
day (it  now  seems  ages  ago),  Oliver  came  down  and 
said  Hannah  was  sick.  Cornelia  put  the  turkey  in 
the  stove,  made  a  good  fire  to  last,  threw  away  the 
pumpkin  all  strained  and  seasoned  for  pies,  and  de- 
parted in  haste.  I  went  to  the  kitchen,  and  lhat  day, 
and  Friday,  and  Saturday,  myself  cooked  everything 


284    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

that  was  eaten  in  the  house !  I  did  it,  of  course,  re- 
markably well,  and  Philip  was  indulgent,  but,  oh ! 
it  is  a  terrible  drag  on  the  legs  as  well  as  other 
members.  .  .  .  The  first  day  Phil,  and  I  washed  all 
the  dishes  after  dinner,  that  you  know  is  what  kills, 
—  after  standing  all  the  morning,  to  go  at  it  again 
at  the  sink.  But  good  old  Franklin  came  every  day 
afterwards,  and  made  the  fire  mornings,  and  stayed 
round,  and  I  called  in  Oliver,  who  dined  with  Frank- 
lin and  stayed  afterwards  to  help  him  wash  up. 
'Twas  a  sight  to  see  the  two  old  darkies  clumsily 
puttering  away  with  the  mops  and  towels.  Oh !  those 
mornings!  to  wake  up  in  doubt  of  any  help  —  cold 
as  Greenland —  my  bath  at  six,  —  then  down  to  a 
cold  kitchen,  the  faithful  Franklin  appearing  just  as 
I  gave  him  up,  —  then  making  myself  the  coffee, 
sweeping  the  red  room,  in  a  royal  clutter,  of  course, 
with  Phil.,  his  cigarettes,  the  constant  fire,  news- 
papers all  scattered  round,  —  set  the  table,  back  to 
kitchen  to  fry  sausages  and  potatoes  and  make  toast, 
boil  milk,  skim  the  cream,  put  away  the  milk,  keep 
neat  the  refrigerator,  fetch  Phil.'s  waterpail,  and 
cheer  him  in  bed  with  news  from  the  front,  —  break- 
fast always  late,  on  account  of  slowness  of  fire  to 
boil  coffee,  sinking  down  in  a  chair  to  get  something 
inside  of  me  —  no  spoons,  or  butter  or  something  else 
lacking,  so  to  jump  up  and  get  them  —  and  the  fire 
to  be  kept  up  in  the  red  room.  .  .  .  My !  was  I  glad 
on  Sunday  morning  to  hear  Cornelia's  genial  voice! 
Hannah  is  all  right ;  it  was  a  scare,  and  Cornelia  gave 
us  a  royal  dinner  in  four  courses,  —  Phil.'s  send-off 
before  he  departed  same  Sunday  p.  M.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSE. 


MATUNUCK,  NEW  YORK,  EUROPE  285 

To  MBS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

NEW  YORK,  December  9,  1893. 

MY  CAROLINE, —  No  quiet  sitty-sitty  in  my  room 
after  breakfast  to  write  letters,  for  all  is  a  rush  and 
whirl.  Yesterday  I  didn't  put  pen  to  paper,  and 
now  I  must  go  forth  into  the  world  immediately. 
We  supped  with  Irving  and  Terry  last  night  at  Papa 
Parke  Godwin's,  and  these  lions  didn't  dream  of 
leaving  us  till  two,  two  (2),  so  it  was  half-past  when 
Susan  stretched  herself  along  the  bed,  and  this  morn- 
ing there  was  no  sign  of  breakfast  till  nine.  Opera 
the  night  before,  and  it  was  one  o'clock  before  we 
"  retired,"  to  be  quite  correct.  Is  it  not  lucky  my 
constitution  is  so  confirmed  (?)  by  nights  and  nights 
of  Fooley  Ann,  so  I  am  equal  to  all  this  ?  Opera  was 
charming;  Melba,  a  new  lig'ht,  has  a  fresh  young 
voice,  very  flexible,  and  a  wonderful  method.  It  was 
Thomas'  "  Hamlet,"  finely  put  on  the  stage,  good  or- 
chestra. We  were  up  in  the  third  tier,  it  was  fun 
to  look  down  on  Mrs.  Kruger's  neck  and  shoulders, 
and  Mrs.  Whitelaw  Reid's  diamonds.  .  .  . 

Niece  Nelly  is  having  a  fine  time  with  her  Daven- 
ports, and  I  had  a  charming  dinner  there  last  eve- 
ning, after  which  we  all  went  in  two  carriages  to  see 
Irving  and  Terry  in  "Henry  VIII."  Glorious,  the 
stage  setting  wonderful.  I  had  no  idea  I  was  going 
to  meet  them  after  it  at  the  Godwins',  —  but  there 
they  came.  I  sate  next  him.  Hb  is  charming.  She 
is  rather  f rubsy,  restless,  very  gracious,  however.  He 
has  given  us  a  box  for  the  "  Lyons  Mail,"  Saturday 
evening,  —  and  to-night  I  go  to  Willard's  "Profes- 
sor's Love  Story."  Voila!  .  .  . 

YOUB  SUSAN. 


286    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

To  Miss  CAROLINE  P.  ATKINSON 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND, 
October  10,  1894. 

How  lovely  of  you,  dear  Carla,  to  write  me  such 
a  nice  letter.  It  will  comfort  me  for  Robert's  de- 
parture to  answer  it  to-day.  A  howling,  howling 
northeast  storm;  the  house  rocked  and  shook  in  the 
night,  it  leaked  and  drip-dripped  in  my  bedroom. 
Early  in  the  dark,  gloomy  morning,  a  blind  I  opened 
(thereby  drenching  me  and  my  nighty),  banged  and 
smashed  a  big  pane,  that  one  at  the  head  of  the 
kitchen  stairs.  I  nailed  it  up  feebly  with  a  piece 
of  thin  board  (in  the  same  costume,  before  my  bath). 
Here  in  the  red  room  with  a  cosy  fire  it  is  quiet, 
being  southwest,  and  Pa  and  Ma  Wells  are  still 
quietly  sleeping  in  their  room  above  me,  where  Mamie 
and  Gladys  lived.  .  .  . 

I  delight  to  be  here,  —  later  than  for  several  years. 
The  weather  up  to  to-day  has  been  just  perfect;  I 
never  saw  such  a  glorious  day  as  Sunday,  —  and  it 
will  be  fine  no  doubt,  after  this.  I  'm  thankful  my 
Robert  got  off  yesterday,  for  wouldn't  this  have  been 
a  howler  to  drive  in,  to  Kingston?  I  miss  him  ter- 
ribly, and  it  was  awful,  last  week,  to  have  Phil.  go. 
But  you  know  I  am  an  incorrigible  devotee  to  soli- 
tude, and  am  never  so  cheerful,  I  believe,  or  so  un- 
ruffled by  small  difficulties  as  when  I'm  alone. 
There 's  a  sort  of  obligation  to  be  polite  and  pleasant 
to  yourself  when  nobody  else  is  round,  and  besides,  — 
what 's  the  use  of  getting  mad  with  yourself  ?  Your- 
self can't  hit  back. 

How  ridiculous  for  Robert  to  go  to  a  different 
wedding  in  Pittsfield.  How  absurd  it  would  sound 
in  a  book !  Speaking  of  books,  we  have  done  pretty 
well  this  summer  for  reading  aloud, — all  the  "  Sinky- 
witeh"  books,  i.e.,  "Fire  and  Sword,"  "Deluge," 


MATUNUCK,  NEW  YORK,  EUROPE  287 

two  volumes,  "Pan  Michael,"  "Yanko,"  as  well  as 
"  Patronage,"  "  Pendennis,"  "  Beauchamp's  Career," 
and  "Richard  Feverel."  Robert  and  I  read  "Pen- 
dennis"  (nine  hundred  big  pages)  in  less  than  a 
week.  Last  evening  I  was  so  solitary  and  sleepy, 
after  a  glorious,  long  walk,  I  thought  I  should  have 
to  go  to  bed  at  seven-thirty ;  but  began  a  wicked  old 
novel  of  Dumas,  and  didn't  stir  from  it  till 
nine.  .  .  . 

Your  always  loving 

SUSAN. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

1619  INDIANA  AVENUE,  CHICAGO,  ILLINOIS, 
Sunday,  January  20,  1895. 

DEAR  LUC., —  .  .  .  Buffalo  was  very  delightful 
and  my  heart  still  remains  with  the  Rogers  family, 
especially  Pa  and  Ma  Rogers,  who  are  lovely,  gentle, 
folks.  .  .  . 

Wednesday  the  trunks  went  off  at  11  A.  M.,  after 
that  there  was  a  moon-like  calm  all  day,  for  whatever 
else  they  bought  they  had  to  carry  in  their  hands. 
At  9  P.  M.  we  all  (except  the  dogs)  left  the  house  for 
the  station,  and  soon  bade  farewell  to  the  parents  and 
James  Johnston,  and  rolled  off  in  the  swell  private 
car,  only  my  berth  was  in  a  common  one  next.  I 
breakfasted  with  them  all  next  morning,  sumptu- 
ously, at  a  real  table  in  a  real  room  with  huge  plate- 
glass  panes  to  the  windows.  .  .  . 

Scene  now  changes  to  a  very  pleasant,  light,  quiet 
spare-room  with  bath-room  adjacent  at  this  friendly 
house.  Mrs.  Dudley  and  the  Doctor  very  cordial, 
really  pleased,  and  just  as  witty,  clever,  agreeable  as 


There  was  to  be  a  great  musicale  that  first  evening 
at  Mrs.  Glessner's,  so  I  took  a  (after  the  sleeper  of 


288    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

previous  night)  useful  nap,  in  some  anguish  about 
my  trunk  (as  it  started  with  the  California  ones, 
by  a  separate  train  from  ours),  but  it  turned  up  all 
right,  and  I  put  on  my  fine  golden  Day  gown.  It 
was  a  beautiful  affair  in  the  splendid  Glessner 
Richardson-made  chateau,  ladies  dressed  in  "  i8th 
Century"  costume,  either  powdered,  or  a  la  Recamier, 
anything  except  modern,  though,  of  course,  many, 
like  me,  in  ordinary  gowns.  The  house  was  a  bower 
of  roses,  the  electric  lights  veiled  in  pink  artificial- 
flower  shades,  so  the  light  was  dim,  while  through 
an  arch  of  smilax  (this  new  kind)  the  orchestra, 
Thomas,  played  delightful  things.  After  that,  sup- 
per, standing,  roving  round  the  place,  lots  of  people 
I  knew,  amongst  others  Mrs.  David  Coolidge  (a 
Shurtleff),  who  is  staying  here  with  her  son,  Dr. 
Fred,  who  married  a  Chicago  Sprague.  .  .  .  Lots 
of  people  fell  on  my  neck  on  account  of  Papa  Ed- 
ward. President  Harper  and  Mrs.  Palmer  of  the 
university  there,  —  and  others,  from  which  spring 
future  engagements,  to  be  reported  as  they  come  off. 
It  was  a  very  brilliant  and  beautiful  occasion,  worthy 
of  any  cosmopolitan  city,  the  only  thing  to  note  es- 
pecially is  that  they  take  more  pains  here  to  be  cor- 
rect, —  but  nothing  is  overdone,  nothing  vulgar.  The 
two  celebrated  belles  of  Chicago,  Mrs.  Caton  and 
Mrs.  Eddy,  had  correct  rococo  costumes,  brocades 
cut  just  like  our  grandma  one,  but  brand-new.  Their 
hair  powdered,  and  all  their  diamonds  on  in  tiaras, 

or  elsewhere.  .  .  .  But,  oh !  now  for  Mrs.  C .    I 

knew  her  before.  She  is  lion-hunter  enragee,  ad- 
vanced female,  views,  everything,  but  above  all,  given 
to  hospitality.  She  came,  she  said,  "to  carry  me 
off  "  after  the  lunch,  to  spend  the  night  at  her  house 
over  on  the  north  side  (between  which  and  us  is  a 
great  gulf  fixed,  you  know).  I  was  aghasted,  I 
twisted  in  the  toils,  but  in  vain,  so,  now  let  me  tell 


MATUNUCK,  NEW  YORK,  EUROPE  289 

you  about  it.  In  the  first  place  they  all  stayed  till 
four-thirty,  then  she  (the  last)  said,  "Now,  Miss 
Hale."  I  had  to  go  up  and  hastily  invent  a  few 
things  for  the  night,  which  I  put  in  the  Angel,  then 
came  down  and  drove  in  her  sort  of  hunched-up 
carryall  with  sides  buckled  down,  it  was  pouring, 
talking  a  blue  streak  two  miles  to  her  house,  —  she 
said  the  house  was  full  of  the  people  coming  to  her 
party,  but  she  was  to  find  a  corner  for  me ;  "  she  knew 
I  was  the  sort  would  n't  mind  sharing  a  bed."  Fancy 
my  anguish!  The  house  when  we  got  there  proved 
to  be  the  largest  I  was  ever  in,  very  modern,  swell, 
in  swell  part  of  Chic.  Immense  drawing-room  like 
a  conservatory,  all  windows,  on  a  curve,  with  win- 
dow-seat overlooking  the  lake,  —  an  organ  in  it, — 
grand  piano,  mere  detail,  crooked-legged  chairs,  arm- 
chairs, consoles,  girandoles,  flowers,  pictures,  rugs,  — 
not  too  much,  fairly  good  taste,  Dresden,  Limoges, 
Sevres,  photographs  all  over  the  house.  Halls  with 
stairs  up  and  down,  and  open  fireplaces,  long  corri- 
dors,—  double  doors,  portieres.  All  in  a  bustle, 
maids  about,  mistress  of  the  house  returning  after 
the  whole  day  out,  regarded  with  a  vague  interest 
by  people  putting  ferns  in  vases.  Mrs.  Dean  Palmer 
advanced  and  was  received  joyfully.  She  had  missed 
her  train,  so  came  and  made  herself  at  home  (she 
was  invited  for  the  evening,  but  had  meant  to  go  back 
to  her  university  and  change  her  gown).  Mrs.  C. 
embraced  her,  gave  a  few  orders,  then  noticed  me 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  place  with  my  Angel 
at  my  feet,  "Oh,  Miss  Hale,  —  by  the  way,  —  yes, 
we  must  put  you  somewhere, — well,  suppose  we  all 
come  up  into  my  room."  Here  she  forgot  all  about 
me  again,  but  Alice  Palmer,  taking  compassion,  in- 
vited me  up  another  flight  to  her  room  as  she  called 
it,  having  taken  herself  possession  on  her  arrival. 
Here  I  got  on  the  bed.  Observe  I  had  parted  com- 


290    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

pany  with,  my  Angel,  bonnet,  fur  and  india-rubbers, 
and  met  them  not  till  long  after.  I  needed  this  nap, 
for  I  had  been  in  the  sleeper  one  night,  then  the  next, 
up  late  at  Mrs.  Glessner's,  and  not  drawn  rein.  I 
found  a  bath-room  and  a  stray  comb,  and  dressed 
according  to  my  lights,  without  any  baggage,  and 
strolled  down  just  in  time  for  dinner  at  a  long,  con- 
fused table.  Frank  Sanborn  is  the  real  lion  of  this 
set  for  the  moment  He  is  talking  about  Abolition- 
ists on  Tuesdays  at  Mrs.  C 's,  and  staying  there. 

.  .  .  But  next  me  sat  Miss  Root,  femme  mure  who 

lives  chez  Mrs.  C ,  Swedenborgian,  but  a  very 

attractive  woman,  and  there  was  a  Miss  Bryan  there 
I  afterwards  much  liked.  These  people  were  all  by 
the  way  of  adoring  me,  and  it  went  very  well,  though 
I  was  cross,  tired,  and  dull  along  that  part.  You  see 
the  thing  was  endless.  We  were  scarce  through  a 
scattery  kind  of  dinner,  where  you  had  to  keep  pass- 
ing the  olives,  but  in  a  superb  dining-room,  with 
more  Limoges  and  Sevres  and  Spode  up  on  shelves 
made  on  purpose,  when  guests  began  to  burst  in  by 
stairs  up  from  the  front  door,  and  we  had  to  come 
out  and  be  presented.  Here  was  Miss  Lunt,  who 
idolises  Mrs.  May  Lowe  Dickinson,  and  had  met  me 
at  her  house  in  New  York,  and  people,  chiefly  named 
Root,  poured  in  because  they  are  musical  and  were 
to  sing.  It  was  about  this  time  that  I  slipped  up- 
stairs and  wandered  round  searching  for  my  effects, 
and  met  a  nice,  coloured  Ellen,  who  runs  the  house, 
who,  moved  by  my  state,  found  my  Angel,  and  put 
me  in  a  room  with  two  beds  inhabited  by  the  C— — 
boys,  with  guns  and  shaving  materials,  but  always 
more  Limoges  and  Sevres  and  plaques  of  Abraham 
Lincoln.  I  got  out  my  slippers  and  a  fresh  hand- 
kerchief ;  I  had  on  a  fairly  good  gown  for  a  lunch, 
but  no  gloves,  and  felt  only  half  dressed,  but  every- 
body else  was  so,  except  Mrs.  C ,  who  had  time 


MATUNUCK,    NEW    YORK,    EUROPE     291 

to  slip  into  a  pale  blue  surah  waist,  and  do  her  hair 
over. 

About  a  hundred  people  came  tumbling  in,  or  let 
us  say  fifty,  but  really  as  many  as  that.  The  singing 
was  beautiful,  some  Christmas  music,  the  room  so 
large  the  organ  was  not  overpowering.  Mrs.  Winn  was 
there,  that  used  to  run  the  Quincy  Shaw  school, 
adores  Nelly,  —  and,  mind  you,  I  was  presented  to 
every  one  as  the  chief  lion,  and  they  all  raved  about 

Papa.    Mrs.  A is  a  very  sweet  old  lady  slightly 

deaf.  She  followed  me  about,  and  I  liked  her,  only 
she  is  rabid  for  woman's  suffrage,  and  I  felt  like  a 
fraud,  yet  did  n't  want  to  discuss  the  subject.  Frank 
Sanborn  and  I  sate  together  part  of  the  time  on  a 
sort  of  Recamier-sofa-throne,  and  cracked  jokes  about 
Boston.  But  the  time  seemed  endless.  I  saw  other 
happy  people  going  away!  but  I  couldn't,  like  the 
caged  bird.  New  people  dropped  in  about  eleven, 
and  we  lions  had  to  be  trotted  out  again,  and  stand 
on  one  leg  after  the  other.  Finally  the  last  went, 
and  then  to  bed;  but  where!  The  sainted  daughter, 
Sally,  gave  up  her  luxurious  room  to  me,  Ellen,  the 
darkey,  brought  my  Angel,  my  bonnet,  my  fur !  At 
last  I  was  in  bed.  Nice  bath  in  the  morning  in  a 
china  bath-tub  of  great  size.  Long  breakfast  table, 
and  really  rather  amusing  talk,  for  now  I  felt  fresh, 
with  Alice  Palmer,  F.  Sanborn,  and  all  the  rest;  for 
six  slept  there,  and  the  family  is  fourteen.  And  so 
by  and  by  escaped ;  and  a  very  agreeable  Irish  coach- 
man drove  me  home  in  a  buggy.  Wasn't  that  a 
time!  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSAN. 


292    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

To  Miss  LUCKETIA  P.  HALE 

CHICAGO,  February  1,  1895. 

DEAR  LTJC.,  —  ...  Another  epave  of  ancient  time 
is  Professor  Palmer,  just  now  visiting  his  Dean  wife, 
and  much  feted;  .  .  .  We  met  them  last  evening  at 
a  very  grand  dinner  at  Mrs.  Glessner's,  of  sixteen 
guests.  I  wore  my  Day  gold  gown,  which  is  gorgeous. 
I  sat  next  to  Thomas,,  the  conductor.  I  was  rather 
scared,  but  he  is  easy  to  talk  to.  His  wife  is  Amy 
Fay's  sister,  you  know  (that  was  with  me  in  Boston), 
that  kind  of  Fay  to  which  Zebra  Pierce  belongs. 
The  dinner  was  for  the  Palmers,  after  dinner  I  had 
lots  of  talk  with  Mrs.  Alice  Freeman  Palmer,  and 
she  was,  in  fact,  charming.  She  is  just  resigning  her 
post  of  Dean  here,  and  goes  back  to  settle  down  in 
Cambridge,  where  he  "professors,"  but  first  they 
travel  abroad  for  a  year.  There  was  also  Professor 
Laughlin,  .  .  .  quite  an  amusing  fellow.  All  these 
eastern  importations  like  to  sit  and  analyse  Chicago, 
and  it  is  an  interesting  study.  Laughlin  says  the 
women  are  far  more  advanced  than  the  men;  they 
certainly  run  the  whole  thing,  and  the  men  do  have 
a  cowed  look;  Dr.  Dudley  holds  his  own,  however. 
A  distinguished  military-looking  man  with  white  hair 
and  irreproachable  shirt-front  proved  to  be  Marshall 
Field,  the  great  shopkeeper  where  I  bought  my  wrap- 
per, but  he  is  a  man  of  intelligence  and  philanthropy, 
triple  millionaire.  I  should  think  he  would  wear 
orders  and  call  himself  le  Marechal  Field.  .  .  . 

The  table  was  beautiful,  a  huge  centre-piece  of 
white  roses  and  lilies  of  the  valley,  on  crimson  plush, 
five  butlers,  and  lots  of  courses  —  but  the  terrapin 
was  not  up  to  the  Philadelphia  mark.  The  men  at 
these  feasts  stay  away  an  endless  time ;  and  it 's  not 
because  they  drink  or  smoke  much,  for  there  is  very 
little  wine  at  these  dinners,  and  only  a  few  have 


MATUNTJCK,    NEW    YOKE,    EUKOPE     293 

cigars ;  it 's  another  sign  of  tlie  supremacy  of  woman, 
for  the  men  think  they  want  to  be  left  to  themselves ! 
I  remonstrate,  though  last  night  I  was  having  a  very 
pleasant  talk  with  Mrs.  Palmer,  when  Laughlin 
joined  in.  ... 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  Miss  LUCBETIA  P.  HALE 

IOWA  CITY,  Wednesday,  February  80,  1895. 

DEAR  LUC.,  —  I  have  just  finished  a  stupendous 
copying  job  for  Edward,  twenty-nine  pages  of  break- 
jaw  stuff  about  Old  English  syllables,  it  has  taken 
three  days.  It  will  affect  my  wits  and  handwriting 
in  this  letter,  but  I  wanted  to  get  that  off  my  mind, 
and  yet  I  must  write  this  to  keep  up  the  continu- 
ity which  works  so  well;  for  yours  came  in  this 
morning.  .  .  . 

You  may  well  guess  that  my  randans  here  have 
begun.  Such  a  time!  Edward  is  quite  dismayed 
at  my  being  such  a  lion,  but  he  is  very  sweet  and 
patient  with  it.  Thirty-two  calls  have  been  made  on 
me,  and  yesterday  a  great  reception  of  me  from  all 
the  Ladies'  clubs.  Edward  is  so  funny  about  it,  he 
says,  "  Of  course  you  are  nice,  but  what  I  can't 
understand  is  your  being  a  literary  celebrity." 

But  these  small  towns  beat  the  Dutch;  I  believe 

they  would  run  after ,  if  she  should  come  this 

way,  and,  indeed,  she  would  be  a  worthy  subject  for 
their  rampant  curiosity,  which  is  all  it  is,  in  matter 
of  fact.  Our  Mrs.  Copeland,  the  landlady,  began  it. 
Of  course  Mrs.  Shaeffer  (observe  I  spell  her  more 
copiously  after  seeing  her  card)  and  a  few  of  the 
Professor's  wives,  felt  bound  to  call  on  Edward's 
aunt,  —  but  Mrs.  Copeland,  at  meals,  when  I  have 
lingered  after  Edward's  departure,  was  much  carried 
away  by  my  charms,  because  I  knew  Louisa  Alcott, 


294    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

had  seen  Longfellow  and  Emerson,  and  been  in  a 
hack  with  Susan  B.  Anthony.  She,  Mrs.  Copeland, 
"is  a  club-woman,"  —  and  she  early  secured  me  to 
"  attend  a  meeting "  of  her  club,  they  were  going  to 
discuss  Michelangelo,  but  come  to  think  on't,  they 
concluded  to  discuss  me,  and  then  to  invite  members 
of  all  the  other  clubs  in  town,  then  they  asked  me 
to  "  address  them  on  some  subject,"  and  then  it 
slipped  unawares  into  the  local  newspaper.  So  there 
was  the  greatest  fussing  and  calling  and  consulting, 
and  people  who  had  n't  yet  "  visited  "  now  "  visited," 
and  in  fine,  yesterday  was  the  day,  and  Mrs.  Bloom's 
the  house.  Moses  Bloom  was  a  great  Jew  here,  and 
his  widow  lives  in  the  "most  elegant  mansion"  in 
the  place,  and  by  good  luck  she  belongs  to  some  club, 
so  Mrs.  Copeland  worked  on  her  to  receive  the  "Amal- 
gamated Clubs  "  at  her  house,  and  Mrs.  Bloom  called 
on  me  as  a  preliminary,  and  I  was  out,  so  on  Sunday 
she  went  to  our  church !  to  bag  me  coming  out,  and 
Mrs.  Barrett,  who  is  the  President  of  Mrs.  Copeland's 
club?  called  on  me,  and  I  was  out,  so  she  fixed  an 
hour  through  Mrs.  C.  to  call  again,  and  learn  my 
views  on  my  subject,  that  she  might  fitly  introduce 
me.  They  were  crazy  that  I  should  talk  about  the 
celebrated  people  I  have  known,  but  I  wouldn't  do 
that,  so  they  were  e'en  content  with  a  "  talk  "  about 
Corsica,  etc.  Well  the  house  is  very  pretty,  just  like 
the  Brookline  later,  suburban  houses,  of  wood,  large 
rooms,  portieres,  hard  floors,  rugs  —  somewhat  crude 
in  adornments,  but  not  really  back  in  sea-shells  and 
snipped-paper  ornaments,  very  pretty,  in  fact.  Mrs. 
Bloom,  as  hostess,  Mrs.  Barrett,  as  President  of  the 
N.  N.  Club,  Mrs.  Copeland,  as  my  keeper,  myself, 
as  the  received,  stood  in  the  doorway,  and  met  about 
fifty  or  more  ladies  of  the  three  clubs,  viz.,  the  Art 
Club  and  the  19th  Century,  and  "Ours,"  the  N.  N. 
(No  Name)  Club.  There  was  a  little  re morqueur,  or 


MATUNUCK,  NEW  YORK,  EUROPE  295 

tug-boat,  named  Miss ,  or  something,  who  took 

in  tow  separately  members  of  her  club  (the  19th  C.), 
and  presented  these,  but  the  Art  Club  had  to  stretch 
for  themselves,  for  their  President  is  abroad.  .  .  . 
Of  course,  I  had  seen  about  a  dozen  of  the  ladies 
before,  and  some  of  them  are  very  well-bred,  well- 
dressed,  attractive  women,  .  .  .  and  they  all  have 
an  appalling  thirst  for  the  improvement  of  their 
minds.  There  are  folding  doors,  and  I  sate  in  the 
middle  of  them  with  a  stiff  circle  round  the  edge  of 
each  room.  It  was  rather  formidable,  as  the  prevail- 
ing dress  is  black  silk,  and  I  had  to  turn  my  head 
from  one  set  to  the  other,  like  a  weather-cock  (I  no- 
tice my  neck  is  a  bit  stiff  this  morning).  But  I  fell 
to  prattling  in  a  perfectly  easy  way  about  my  trip 
with  Susan  across  Corsica,  and  they  sate  enwrapped, 
—  and  many  managed  out  of  my  simple  tale  of  travel- 
ling to  extract  "  a  thought "  to  elevate  and  instruct. 
I  managed  it  in  laps,  leaving  off  when  I  feared  they 
would  flag  —  when  lemonade  was  served,  after  which 
I  went  at  it  again.  They  thought  it  was  beautiful, 
and  Mrs.  Copeland  quotes  a  lady,  who  "envies  me 
that  vocabulary."  So  I  got  back  to  Edward,  who  was 
much  amused  by  my  account,  and  we  are  both  re- 
lieved it  is  over.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  MRS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

MATUNTJCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  April  %4>  1896. 
.  .  .  Oh,  my  dear,  such  a  relief  to  get  here.  I  was 
in  a  horrid  way  in  town,  the  last  end  of  my  tether, 
body  and  soul.  It  was  lovely  and  warm  when  we  got 
here,  and  everything  so  nicely  prepared.  Such  an 
improvement  on  the  early  days  of  my  arrivals,  when, 
as  once,  I  had  to  kick  in  the  back  door  myself,  in 
order  to  enter  a  cold,  neglected  house.  Now  Elisha 


296 


LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 


was  at  the  door,  Louise  in  the  kitchen,  mayflowers 
on  the  table,  bright  fire  on  the  hearth,  a  few  letters 
waiting,  and  Christie,  hurrying  up  the  hill  with  eggs, 
and  Thomas  J.,  going  down  after  leaving  a  chicken. 
I  had  a  fine  smoking-hot  meal  of  steak  and  boiled 
potatoes  about  five,  and  went  to  bed  at  six,  in  broad 
daylight,  birds  singing  outside  my  window.  Since 
then  we've  had  a  cold 
turn,  and  I  got  wet  to  the 
skin  (fact)  away  down  by 
the  ponds  picking  "  ar- 
butus." Not  so  very  good 
for  grippe,  you  will  say, 
but  in  fact  I  've  been  bet- 
ter ever  since;  it  kind  of 
shook  me  up  I  expect. 

I  can  read  here ! !  Don't 
think  I  Ve  opened  a  book 
since  March  1.  I  have 
a  Cherbuliez  novel,  which 
starts  well,  down  on  the  Mediterranean,  and  I  have 
Mrs.  Clifford's  "  Flash  of  Summer  " ;  have  you  seen 
it?  Terribly  sad,  but  extremely  well  written.  All 
these  tales  nowadays  begin  with  a  most  unpromising 
marriage,  and  worry  along  to  a  miserable  death  or 
two  at  the  end,  but  it's  no  use  to  expect  anything 
different.  .  .  .  Lots  of  lova 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  Miss  LTTCBETIA  P.  HALE 

MATUNTJCK,  RHODE  ISLAND, 

May  6,  1896.    46°  ! 

DEAE  LTJO.,  —  Two  delicious  days,  Monday  and 
Tuesday,  sitting  in  the  doorway,  with  warm  sun,  and 
such  rich-throated  birds ;  one  had  his  little  gullet  just 
full  of  rapture  he  threw  out,  expressly  for  me,  sitting 


MATUNUCK,  NEW  YORK,  EUROPE  297 

on  the  post  of  the  piazza.  I  begged  him  to  settle 
there  for  the  summer.  But  a  grummelly  unemcient 
thunder  shower  in  the  afternoon  yesterday  changed 
all  during  the  night  to  howling  north  winds,  blowing 
from  everywhere,  and  to-day  it  is  grey  and  freezing 
cold  again,  so  I  return  to  my  fireside.  However, 
those  two  days  were  worth  waiting  a  winter. 

Always  yrs., 

SUSIE. 


MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  May  87,  1896. 

DEAR  LUC.,  —  I  want  to  tell  you  that  I  saw  the  full 
moon  rise  last  night,  my  first  dealings  of  any  sort 
with  the  heavenly  bodies  this  season.  It  was  really, 
full  the  night  before,  but  fogs  and  clouds,  —  so,  as 
last  evening,  it  was  booked  to  rise  at  eight-forty-two, 
I  slipped  on  my  red  dressage  when  I  went  to  bed  at 
eight-thirty  (in  Fullum's  room),  and  softly  stepped 
into  my  own  room,  not  to  disturb  Louise ;  there  I 
sate  in  big  arm-chair  waiting  the  performance.  It 
was  lovely,  the  only  night  possible  to  call  warm 
(except  that  cracker  of  a  Sunday),  so  dark  and  still, 
frogs  singing,  whippoorwills,  and  occasionally  a  cow 
remarking  in  the  dark.  Where  to  look  I  knew  not,  — 
so  little  conversant  with  moons  of  late.  Scorpio  was 
over  Africa  in  the  least  land-locked  part  of  our  hori- 
zon. Well :  by  and  by  came  a  flush  behind  the  Point 
Judy  lighthouse !  and  then  the  rim !  —  away  out  to 
sea,  at  least  five  moons'  widths  to  the  right  (or  south) 
of  Point  Judy,  so  that  it  made  a  wake  across  the 
water  when  it  got  high  enough.  It  was  very  beauti- 
ful, coppery,  and  strolling  slowly  upward  through 
belts  of  fog.  So  then  I  went  to  bed.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 


298    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  June  4,  1896. 
DEAE  LUCRETiA, —  .  .  .Yesterday  I  didn't  touch 
pen  to  paper;  at  nine-thirty,  after  wrangling  at  cart- 
rails  till  I  was  nearly  wild,  —  having  bought  a  slop- 
pail,  a  duster,  a  gem-pan  and  a  floor-broom,  and 
resisted  the  lure  of  fifty  feet  of  hose,  —  I  shrieked 
to  Francis,  "  Let 's  get  out  of  this !  "  —  and  we  started 
off  on  a  great  walk  after  arethusa.  The  country  is 
enchanting.  We  hied  up  through  Goodchildses,  and 
admired  her  pigs,  which  she  has  set  up  in  a  "  stoi " 
near  Jerry's  cart-track.  Climbed  the  gate  and  en- 
countered "George  Oi's"  sheep  with  lots  of  little 
lambs.  Crossed  to  the  Kingston  road  foot  of  Broad 
Hill,  and  walked  up  to  Mrs.  Teft's,  finding  lupines 
under  the  pine  trees.  Mrs.  Teft  she  was  washin',  and 
real  glad  to  see  us,  the  medder  pinks  made  her  think 
o'  me,  and  she  was  wondering.  She 's  pretty  well  ex- 
cept for  the  rheumatiz,  and  washed  out  three  days  in 
the  week  all  winter  long  over  to  Segurses'.  She  had 
forty  eggs  sot,  but  nothin'  come  on  'em  but  four 
brilers,  and  she  let  them  go  last  week  to  Hen.  Whaley. 
She  thought  mebbe  I  'd  like  them,  but  he  come  along. 
So  we  left  her,  and  went  down  through  her  "swormp" 
and  got  the  arethusas  (same  as  medder  pinks),  and 
so  came  up  round  by  Peths'.  She  also  was  in  her 
tubs  (why  Wednesday  (?)),  but  took  us  into  the 
parlour  and  said,  "  Ye  'd  better  take  off  your  bunnit 
(my  beret}  and  cool  yer  head."  They's  all  up  in 
confusion  with  them  bees  that  swormed  that  morning 
and  all  aout  in  the  apple  tree  now  loose,  but  Josh 
he  ain't  never  stung  cause  he  can  manage  'em.  She 
was  thinking  of  whitewashing,  but  sot  down  to  read 
a  letter.  This  to  account  for  the  disorder  of  the 
room.  She  give  us  "  pinies,"  and  snowballs,  and  we 
come  on  down  through  the  fascinating  wood-path, 
with  laurel  just  hinting,  to  Cornelia's.  She  was 
whitewashing,  and  met  us  with  hands  upraised  all 


MATUNUCK,  NEW  YORK,  EUKOPE  299 

limy  —  but  presented  a  dusky  cheek  to  my  embrace. 
She  was  dretful  glad  to  see  us,  and  her  cats  come 
round  most  friendly.  By  the  way,  Mrs.  Teft  had  a 
new  kitten,  named  Grover  Cleveland.  Cornelia's 
lilacs  is  all  "threw"  with,  but  she  gave  us  yaller 
lilies.  Down  through  their  poine- woods  ter  Mrs. 
Abby  Tucker's,  but  nobody  but  the  dorg  at  home, 
and  him  inside  barkin'  on  us.  I  see  her  brilers  are 
pretty  well  along,  and  her  white  rose  well  on  to  blow. 
Was  n't  this  a  nice  trip  ?  We  reached  here  reeking, 
just  in  time  for  a  rubdown,  the  mail,  and  old  fowls 
fricasseed.  I  must  stop. 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 


To  Miss  KATHARINE  P.  BOWDITCH 
(MRS.  ERNEST  AMORY  CODMAN) 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  May  SO,  1896. 
MY  KATHARINE,  —  I  had  such  a  glorious  rainbow 
here  all  to  myself  last  evening.  I  want  to  tell  you 
about  it  right  off.  I  was  thinking  about  you  when 
it  happened,  so  you  see  you  came  into  it.  It  began 
up  behind  the  hill  back  of  the  Matlacks'  and  stretched 
over  the  Salt  Pond,  and  Brownings',  and  "  Hogs- 
wallow,"  which  is  now  a  mass  of  apple-blossoms,  and 
"  P'int  Judy,"  and  came  down  behind  the  "  Tumble- 
down," but  not  into  the  ocean,  for  it  stretched  over  it 
so  you  saw  the  water-tints  through  the  shaded  colours 
of  the  rainbow,  and  all  that  landscape  framed  thus, 
and  sparkling  with  the  recent  rain,  was  exquisite. 
It  lasted  quite  half  an  hour,  I  am  sure,  growing  more 
and  more  intense,  —  with  the  outer,  '  reflected,  re- 
versed bow,  distinct  in  every  part,  though  fainter. 
It  was  so  lovely,  I  sort  of  felt  it  was  a  sign  that 
things  were  going  to  be  better  with  us.  The  porch 


300    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

shut  it  off  partly,  so  I  got  a  kitchen-chair  there  was 
in  the  best  parlour  and  sate  a  long  time  (with  a  cape 
on)  out  in  the  driveway,  just  in  front  of  the  house, 
to  watch  it.  Swallows  were  rejoicing  round,  and  two 
soared  up  together  into  the  arch,  and  made  me  think 
of  Franz's  song  (isn't  it?). 

"  Ach,  Voglein,  du  hast  dich  betrogen 

Sie  wohnet  nicht  mehr  in  Thai 
Schwing'  auf  dich  zum  Himmelsbogen 
Griiss'  sie  droben  zum  letzten  Mai." 

Just  then  Louise  came  along  with  my  supper  on  the 
little  P.M.  tea-table.  "Where  are  you?"  "Out 
here ! "  I  cried,  and  she  put  it  down  in  front  of  me, 
table  and  all.  Dropped  guinea-hen's  egg  on  toast, 
and  little  new  radishes.  It  was  raining,  you  know, 
and  there  I  sate  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  all  laugh- 
ing and  crying,  and  eating  my  supper.  The  bow  went 
higher  and  higher  as  the  sun  set  and  setter,  until  it 
was  all  melted  into  vague  clouds  and  softness  —  and 
I  came  in  and  lighted  the  fire. 

Mr.  Robert  Browning  is  well.  He  came  along 
during  the  rainbow  (before  I  had  my  supper),  and 
we  conversed  about  it.  I  said  (too  lightly,  I  fear), 
"Well,  the  people  in  the  ark  were  glad  to  see  it." 
"  Yes,  that 's  so,"  said  he,  very  seriously.  "  And  we 
hain't  no  mention  of  there  ever  bein'  a  bow  previous 
to  then."  I  must  tell  that  to  Robby. 

Own 
SUSAN. 

To  Miss  CAROLINE  P.  ATKINSON 

MATTJNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  June  16,  1896. 
MY  DEAR  CARLA,  —  Oh !  Carla,  you  can  guess  that 
I  miss  Robert  now  terribly.     This  morning  I  was 
thinking,  —  I  must  have  Robert.     His  soothing  in- 


MATUNUCK,  NEW  YORK,  EUROPE  301 

fluence  kept  everybody  at  his  or  her  best  —  now,  with 
all  the  different  elements,  they  are  at  odds,  and  I 
can't  talk  with  him  about  it  to  get  comfort  and 
counsel.  .  .  . 

There  are  five  maids  or  nurses  in  the  kitchen,  and 
Franklin  has  his  breakfast  every  day.  My  motto  is, 
"Kill,  kill,  slay  and  eat,"  for  it  seems  as  if  there 
could  not  be  enough  things  in  the  house  to  feed  so 
many.  I  love  the  fray,  you  know,  only  my  head 
gets  confused  sometimes,  after  six  weeks  of  absolute 
quiet  and  solitude.  The  children  are  delicious.  .  .  . 

But  just  fancy  last  Sunday,  pouring  sheets  of  rain 
outdoors,  cold  and  damp  within,  fires  in  the  red  room 
and  Aunt  Lucretia's,  gloomy  groups  scattered  over 
the  house  and  moulting  in  the  kitchen.  Not  a  hole 
to  hide  in !  Thank  heaven  to-day  is  warm  and  glow- 
ing with  sunlight.  The  place  looks  lovely,  and  all 
Matunuck  is  in  perfection.  Laurel  just  over  every- 
thing. Lots  of  love,  dear  Carla,  from  your 

SUSAN. 

To  Miss  CAROLINE  P.  ATKINSON 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND, 

September  18,  1896. 

DEAR  MY  CARLA,  —  I  am  rottens  not  to  write  you 
before,  but  I  am  up  to  my  ears  in  housework  since 
the  departure  of  the  gilt-edged  ladies.  Has  Phil,  or 
anybody  written  you  what  a  scrimmage  there  was 
that  first  week  of  September  with  fifteen  people  in 
the  house,  and  only  fat  Louisa  Sebastian  to  "  do  "  for 
'em?  We  all  turned  to  and  set  tables  and  washed 
dishes.  Edward  was  fine,  he  tried  to  wipe  tumblers, 
but  couldn't  get  his  hand  inside  he  said.  Parber 
and  I  made  the  beds,  and  Francis  proved  himself  a 
first-class  butler.  It  was  all  because  nobody  was  will- 
ing to  go  away.  We  have  calmed  down  now,  only  six 


302    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

and  a  half  at  table,  Geraldine's  the  half,  —  and  we 
have  a  regular  routine  of  "  stretching  for  ourselves." 
Louise  Gray  changes  the  plates,  Peggy  cuts  the  bread 
and  fills  the  tumblers,  Phil,  makes  sudden  lunges  at 
the  dishes  to  carry  them  out  to  the  kitchen.  Every- 
one so  accommodating  that  it  runs  merrily,  and  all 
agree  it's  much  pleasanter  than  the  strait-laced 
regime  of  Queen  Mary,  and  Loisy's  cooking  makes 
them  eat  twice  as  much  as  in  Hannah's  time.  Of 
course,  it 's  a  little  more  work  for  me,  but  we  are  all 
so  happy  I  don't  mind  it.  Only  if  I  wash  the  break- 
fast things,  I  don't  write  letters.  September  has 
slipped  along  like  lightning,  and  it  is  good  for  me 
to  be  busy  to  keep  off  the  wolves  of  thoughts  about 
last  year.  .  .  . 

LOVING  SUSAN. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

ALGER,  Wednesday,  December  16,  1896. 
DEAR  LTJC.,  —  With  my  nice  coffee  and  marmalade 
(fresh  butter,  and  such  rolls)  I  was  planning  many 
necessary  letters;  but  I  believe  I  must  begin  one  to 
you,  to  say  that  I've  got  my  wooden  bowl.  It  is  ex- 
actly my  dream,  that  I  imagined  in  coming,  only 
really  better  in  several  ways.  Is  n't  that  wonderful  ? 
—  I  was  so  afraid  Madame  Kirsch  wouldn't  give 
me  this  room,  —  the  one  I  had  first,  last  time,  and 
which  I  dearly  loved,  and  which  I  had  to  leave,  in 
about  two  weeks  when  we  moved  to  the  villa,  where 
my  room  was  n't  half  so  nice.  So  when  we  got  here, 
and  Madame  led  us  up  (six  flights)  I  was  all  of  a 
tremble  till  she  came  to  the  right  door,  opened  the 
same  window,  and  there  was  my  terrace  —  and  the 
view !  I  think  it 's  about  the  most  beautiful  view  in 
the  world  —  perhaps  that  San  Ysidro  one  is  better, 
but  something  like.  Oh,  my!  the  curving  bay  and 


MATOTTJCK,    NEW    YOKK,    EUKOPE     303 

white-capped  mountains,  and  sun  just  rising  over 
them  into  glorious  blue  sky,  and  the  peacock  water 
all  across  the  horizon,  and  on  the  left  Algiers.  And 
then  up  here  the  nice,  brick  terrace  all  our  own  now 
with  a  parapet  that  you  can  dry  your  towels  on, 
absolutely  not  overlooked,  so  high  up  :  and  down 
below  the  winding  road  with  little  donkeys'  trot-trot, 
and  boys  sitting  sideways,  and  Arabs  and  dogs  and 
butchers'  carts,  and  a  horn  blowing,  and  jingle-jingle, 
and  tall  cypress  trees  sticking  up,  and  red  roofs  all 
scattered  amongst  olive-trees,  and  the  white  villa 
opposite,  but  below,  so  not  to  shut  out  anything,  all 
hung  with  vines;  and  great  fat  roses  climbing  over 
our  gate,  and  lots  of  them  on  my  bureau.  And  warm, 
with  the  sun  slanting  in,  and  me  in  my  dressage  with 
a  light  rug  on  knees  only,  and  hair  drying  after  ex- 
cellent sitz-tub,  which  the  sweet  French  maid  has 
just  taken  away,  and  garQOn  taken  away  the  coffee- 
tray.  There!  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSAN. 

To  Miss  LUCEETIA  P.  HALE 


PEES  GENES,  January  &£.»  1897. 
DEAR  LUC.,  —  Last  night,  before  climbing  into  my 
steep  German  bed,  I  prepared  for  the  occasion,  by 
spreading  over  it,  besides  my  (new)  Arab  blanket 
the  Madchen  always  sees  fit  to  make  up  in  it,  my  red 
bear  dressage  and  fur  cape,  rejoicing  in  the  posses- 
sion of  such  luxuries  in  a  tropical  climate.  By  wind- 
ing my  little  head-shawl  round  my  feet,  I  managed 
to  fall  asleep  comfortably,  and  must  add  that  the  fur 
cape  slipped  off  to  the  floor  in  the  night  without  my 
minding  it.  The  weather  was  on  my  arrival,  at  first, 
warm  and  lovely,  open  window,  sun  streaming  in,  but 
a  big  storm  was  brewing,  and  all  yesterday  the  sea 
was  in  a  glorious  pother,  the  sun  all  day  raging 


304    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

through  an  angry  sky,  making  the  most  wonderful 
peacock  tints  on  the  water,  and  great  surf  breaking 
on  our  rocks,  which  everyone  went  out  to  see.  Really 
as  fine  as  Atlantic  storms.  .  .  . 

It 's  very  beautiful  here,  and  intensely  comfortable, 
and  I  have  a  few  friends  in  all  languages  in  the 
hotel,  and,  oh!  the  joy  of  being  by  myself,  I  mean  as 
to  making  plans,  no  one  to  worry  about,  for  fear  she 
is  not  happy.  Then  there 's  no  one  to  say,  "  I  thought 
you  meant  to  do  so  and  so."  As  for  Lucca,  it 's  no 
great  consequence  whether  I  go  there  or  not.  So  I  've 
passed  the  week,  getting  a  good  rest  after  that  Colum- 
bia business,  sitting  in  my  lovely  window  with  its  sur- 
passing view,  mending  all  my  clothes,  and  making  a 
digado  to  hide  the  rags  of  my  other  gown,  writing  up 
letters  (sadly  behindhand),  doing  Italian  meister- 
schaft  and  an  Italian  novel,  walking  on  the  enchant- 
ing spiaggia,  or  going  to  Genoa  to  shop.  There  was 
a  nice  English  girl  here  with  her  uncle,  and  evenings 
I  sate  with  them  in  the  hall,  where  sometimes  is 
orchestra,  and  one  evening  was  a  prestidigitator,  who 
reminded  me  of  Francis,  only  he  spoke  Italian  and 
French.  These  Hanburys  are  gone,  and  the  only 
American  man  is  gone ;  I  'm  glad  he 's  gone,  for  he 
made  me  tired,  puling,  and  of  no  great  account.  So 
now  evenings  I  have  my  cafe  noir  sent  up  here, 
where  my  nice  lamp,  novel,  and  Fooley  Ann,  await 
me.  By  the  way,  last  evening  I  beat  twice  running ! 
I  bought  a  new  pack  of  cards  (French)  in  Algiers, 
and  for  a  long  time  they  could  not  get  the  hang  of 
the  game,  but  now  they  beat  quite  frequently,  and 
when  they  don't,  I  cheat. 

So  now  I  want  to  hark  back  to  those  last  days  at 
Algiers,  which  I  never  quite  described,  and  I  want  to 
review  the  period  before  it 's  forgotten.  I  think  very 
fondly  of  the  month  at  Kirsch,  and  in  fact  Genoa  is 
gloomy  in  contrast  with  laughing  Algiers.  You  see 


MATUNUCK,  NEW  YORK,  EUROPE  305 

Nora  and  I  decided  to  go  down  to  the  town  for  a  few 
days.  .  .  . 

The  rooms,  deux  chambres  communiquantes  they 
gave  us  at  VEurope  were  one  good,  one  very  bad,  and 
Nora  very  kindly  gave  me  the  good  one.  This  was 
bad  for  us  both.  Hers  was  utterly  dark,  only  having 
a  window  on  a  well,  which  was  far  from  well,  as  the 
smells  were  of  the  kitchen ;  so  I  had  to  have  her  come 
into  my  room  for  coffee,  etc.,  etc.  She  had  to  give  me 
the  good,  on  account  of  my  superior  age,  of  course. 
In  general  I  prefer  the  bad,  for  then  there's  no 
grumbling,  or  else  I  can  do  it  myself.  However,  my 
room  was  enchanting,  and  I  should  have  had  her 
there  anyway,  most  of  the  time,  for  us  to  enjoy  the 
balcony  overlooking  the  amusing  town  and  harbour, 
where  we  hoped  to  see  our  steamer  coming  in;  as  it 
happened  our  backs  were  turned  just  at  that  moment. 
(Sun  now  shining  in  nice  and  warm;  affections  got 
the  better  of  rage,  and  clearing  off  fine.) 

Well,  we  got  there  and  settled  in  P.M.  after  a 
scrimmagio  of  departure  from  Kirsch.  Seems  to  me 
I  wrote  you  or  somebody  about  that.  Nora  went  out 
and  bought  up  half  the  town,  jewels,  embroidery,  all 
kinds  of  things,  and  I  met  her  at  the  pastry-cook's, 
and  we  had  tea  together,  and  met  the  Beans.  I  feel 
now  as  if  I  did  write  before  about  all  this,  no  matter. 
On  Tuesday  we  had  a  laughable  expedition  with 
Madame  Kirsch.  I  wrote  Carry  Bursley  a  letter 
about  this,  which  she  will  show  to  you,  but  not  make 
public.  She  brought  her  omnibus  to  our  hotel,  and 
we  all  climbed  in,  Miss  Homer,  Mrs.  Bean,  Madame 
herself,  me,  Nora,  —  five  fat  fools  of  middle  age,  and 
we  went  to  see  some  Spanish  dancers  and  afterwards, 
the  Moorish  bath.  Then  we  went  all  about  the  Arab 
town  and  saw  houses'  insides,  etc.  I  may  have  said 
to  you  that  all  these  sights  are  less  genuine  than  our 
visits  to  Hassan's  wives,  and  such.  Here  there  is 


306         LETTERS   OE   SUSAN   HALE 

always  quelque  chose  de  reclame,  the  things  got  up  to 
appear  Arab  to  foreigners,  and  the  cinquante-centime 
business,  or  more  likely  vingt-fmncs,  appears  through- 
out. We  got  back  to  the  hotel  about  four,  and  Nora, 
untiring,  went  out  again  to  ransack  shops.  I  was  in 
fevers  from  finding  the  Henns'  cards,  lest  I  had 
missed  them,  and  an  immense  bunch  of  violets  from 
Henn,  and  I  saw  before  the  hotel  door  their  funny 
little  trap  with  the  prancing  pony.  So  I  stirred  not 
from  the  spot  till  Henns  returned,  after  a  long  ab- 
sence from  their  trap,  when  they  came  in,  and  we 
had  the  nicest,  long,  confidential  talk  in  the  entresol 
salon  of  the  hotel.  They  are  very  dear,  affectionate 
people,  and  it  seems  they  were  disappointed  not  to 
have  me  staying  with  them.  .  .  . 

Meanwhile,  Tuesday,  Nora  and  I  lunched  at  the 
fish-shop,  which  is  my  joy  and  delight,  and  she  liked 
it  just  as  much.  You  sit  in  the  dark  before  this  great 
arch,  and  eat  crevettes  and  fish  and  entrecote,  with  a 
bottle  of  some  wine,  and  outside  is  the  blank  white 
wall  of  the  mosque  near  the  sea;  but  between,  is  a 
great  broad  staircase,  public,  down  and  up  which 
goes  everything,  Turks,  donkeys,  Jews,  Arabs,  dogs, 
women,  Rag-bags,  sailors  of  all  nations.  Women,  sell- 
ing parrots  and  monkeys,  live  on  these  stairs,  and 
below  make  a  living  tending  cockles  and  mussels  and 
snails,  which  nobody  seems  ever  to  buy,  in  little 
dishes.  Musicians  twangled  and  sang-led  naughty 
French  songs,  cats  came  out  from  behind  boats  and 
ate  entrails  of  fish,  a  man  brought  violets  I  bought 
for  a  sou  or  so.  About  one  o'clock  we  saw  grand 
muftis,  all  done  up  in  clean  turbans,  with  arrogant 
burnouses  over  their  shoulders,  go  sailing  into  the 
mosque,  so  we  went  in  on  our  way  home,  and  found 
the  same  with  their  shoes  off,  kneeling  before  Kaabas. 
We  like  that,  Nora  and  I,  and,  in  fact,  we  did  the 
same  for  luncheon  the  next  day,  only  sitting  up-stairs 


MATUNUCK,  NEW  YORK,  EUROPE  307 

over  the  arch.  That  day,  Wednesday,  we  meant  to 
go  to  Point  Pescade  to  luncheon,  on  the  border  of  the 
sea,  where  often  Mrs.  Church  and  I  drove,  a  beauti- 
ful sort  of  Cornice  drive.  But  our  tram  a  vapeur 
only  stopped  at  St.  Eugene,  and  wouldn't  go  any 
farther.  Nora  was  a  little  displeased  with  me  for 
not  knowing  this  at  my  birth,  but  I  didn't,  so  we 
walked  round  a  little,  watching  the  waves,  and  then 
got  on  the  front  of  a  stray  bus  and  came  back  to  town. 
They  had  a  small,  loose  lamb  under  our  seat  running 
round  amongst  our  legs.  Nora  bought  more  things 
that  P.  M.,  and  I  got  a  copper  jug,  —  either  then  or 
previously.  Now  came  Thursday,  a  day  of  hurry 
and  worry.  My  gown  came  not  home  from  Gaze  till 
the  last  minute.  Nora  still  wanted  to  do  things,  and 
we  actually  were  on  the  bus  to  go  out  and  lunch  once 
more  at  Kirsch,  when  it  came  over  me  that  I  couldn't 
and  would  n't  spend  all  that  time,  get  tired,  see  all  the 
Kirsch  folks  again,  after  saying  good-bye  once,  so  I 
broke  loose,  and  jumped  off  the  bus,  and  came  back 
to  hotel,  very  luckily  in  time  to  pay  Gaze,  finish  my 
trunks,  and  be  all  calm  when  the  steamer  arrived 
sooner,  at  one  instead  of  three,  o'clock.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  Miss  LUCBETIA  P.  HALE 

HOTEL  NETTUNO,  February  4,  1897. 
DEAR  LUC.,  —  Now  must  tell  all  about  my  Lucca 
expedition,  because  it  was  wonderful.  You  must 
know,  the  evening  before,  i.  e.,  Monday,  I  was  sitting 
in  my  red  bear,  playing  Fooley  Ann  in  my  huge 
chamber,  with  two  tall,  dim  candles,  when  by  a  knock, 
there  was  suddenly  ushered  in  upon  me  a  beautiful 
youth,  looking  something  like  Will  Chamberlin  at 
twenty-one,  who  was  Francesco  Maggi,  come  from  his 


308    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

mother,  Signora  Catemia  Maggi,  to  say  she  was 
afraid  it  was  going  to  be  cattivo  tempo  next  day, 
and  what  did  I  think  about  going  to  Lucca. 
"Cecco"  (she  calls  him)  thought  it  much  wiser  not 
to  go  if  it  piover-ed.  very  much,  and  I  fully  agreed 
with  him,  so  it  was  settled  that  unless  there  was  a  de- 
cided change  in  the  weather  we  should  n't  start.  At 
least,  I  think  that  is  what  we  said,  but  you  can't  be 
always  sure  in  a  strange  language.  It  poured  as  I 
went  to  letto  and  I  confess  I  prayed  to  all  my  gods 
that  it  might  continue,  and  so  avert  a  difficult  experi- 
ence (but  I  'm  delighted  that  we  could  go).  Tuesday 
morning  at  the  otto  when  Esther  brought  il  mio 
bagno  with  this  beautiful  copper  jug  containing  the 
"  acqua  f  reddo,"  it  was  pouring ;  so  I  did  n't  hurry 
the  coffee  or  anything,  which  came  eight-fifteen.  But 
when  I  had  all  finished  and  looked  out,  it  was  just 
stopping,  though  Pisa  below  was  still  splashing 
through  puddles  with  wet  umbrellas,  and  I  thought 
it  would  be  a  shame  if  Signora  should  take  the  trouble 
to  come  for  me,  not  to  be  ready,  so  I  dressed  wholly, 
fixed  money,  gloves  and  all,  then  leaned  again  from 
my  window.  It  was  ten  minutes  of  nine,  and  a  neat 
signora  in  black  was  walking  along  rather  fast  below. 
"  Now  if  she  turns  the  corner,"  I  thought,  "  I  '11  put 
on  my  bonnet.  If  she  goes  along  Lung  Allio  it  ain't 
Signora."  She  turned  the  corner,  and  I  was  pinning 
on  my  bonnet  when  Signora  Maggi  appeared  at  my 
door.  She  is  a  dear.  She  looks  a  little  like  Augusta 
Hooper,  the  Bursley  cousin,  but  she  is  gentler.  Her 
breeding  was  perfect  all  day,  and  so  enduring.  We 
started  down,  discommanding  my  fuoco  for  which 
the  legno  was  just  coming  up-stairs,  and  took  a 
carozza  for  the  station,  and  a  second-class  carriage 
for  Lucca,  where  two  men  were  in  uniform,  that  we 
talked  with  all  the  way,  about  viaggio  sul  mare  in 
grand  vapor es. 


MATUNUCK,  NEW  YORK,  EUROPE  309 

It 's  about  three-quarters  of  an  hour  to  Lucca,  snow 
on  the  green  fields  all  along.  I  asked  what  the 
alberi  were,  and  seems  they  are  mulberries,  and 
she  told  me  all  about  the  process,  and  she  says  it's 
perfectly  lovely  to  see  the  worms  gobbling  the  leaves. 
"Ain't  it  bellisimo?"  she  said,  turning  to  the  men, 
"  great,  fat,  white  worms  as  long  as  your  finger,  they 
seem  to  enjoy  it  so ! "  It  was  sloppy  at  Lucca,  the 
station  outside  the  walls.  We  had  umbrellas  and  my 
fur  cape;  she  had  a  muff.  We  walked  briskly  into 
the  town  and  to  the  prefettura  in  the  Grand  Ducal 
Palazzo,  where  she  had  a  friend.  She  knows  all  the 
Fullums  and  police  officers  and  George  Clarkes  in  the 
place,  as  well  as  dukes  and  duchesses,  and  if  she  don't, 
she  says,  "  io  Maggi,"  and  they  lift  up  their  hats. 
We  were  waiting  it  seems  for  a  friend  of  hers  who 
has  an  offizio  in  the  prefettura,  and  he  came  down- 
stairs with  a  great  key,  and  unlocked  the  rooms  (still 
in  Ducal  Palace)  of  the  Pinacotheka.  Some  interest- 
ing pictures,  not  remarkably  so.  Guercino  and  Era 
Bartolomeo,  and  one  or  two  fine  portraits  (said  to 
be),  by  certain  masters.  A  ductiessa  was  copying  an 
ugly  little  picture  of  the  Dutch  School.  It  was  the 
picture  of  a  little  man  with  a  big  head,  surrounded 
by  pots  and  pans,  and  she  had  made  the  head  too  big, 
so  it  came  down  below  the  middle  of  the  picture. 
But  no  matter,  she  was  a  duchessa  and  enjoying  her- 
self,—  a  girl  about  twenty,  I  should  think.  There 
was  a  portrait  of  Eliza  Bachiochi,  the  sister  of  Na- 
poleon, don't  you  know,  he  gave  her  the  Principality 
of  Lucca.  What  cheek!  She  is  all  fine  robes  and  a 
coronet,  quite  different  from  the  clothes  she  brought 
from  Ajaccio.  The  condottore  of  Institute  of  Belli 
Arti,  came  and  was  presented  to  me,  and  showed  me 
pictures,  as  did  the  custodiano.  Then  we  came  out 
and  said  good-bye  to  these  friends,  and  went  to  the 
Cathedral. 


310    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

I  was  already  enchanted  with  the  little  town, 
though  piles  of  nieve  were  in  the  streets.  The 
Cathedral  front  is  very  beautiful,  all  carved.  We 
went  in,  and  within  it  is  beautiful  also,  very  narrow 
with  lofty  columns.  It  was  a  feast  day  for  the  Ma- 
donna or  somebody,  and  high  mass,  with  lots  of 
candles,  and  music  going  on,  and  oh,  my  dear,  such 
beautiful  music.  I  have  never  happened  to  hear  any 
very  wonderful  church  music.  This  was  a  full  or- 
chestra (besides  organ)  of  violins,  wind  instruments, 
led  with  a  snap  by  a  fine  conductor,  besides  full 
chorus  of  voices,  and  solos  by  a  delicious  tenor,  as  if 
Jean  de  Reszke  himself  were  there,  a  good  baritone, 
and  a  soprano  I  thought  to  be  some  prima  donna 
from  opera,  but  it  was  the  voce  bianco,  of  a  boy! 
We  just  sate  down  and  listened,  for,  I  should  think, 
two  hours.  I  have  seldom  been  so  moved  by  music ; 
it  was  passionate,  emotional,  though  coming  back  to 
fugues  and,  so  to  speak,  "  sacred "  movements,  to  fit 
the  service,  —  it  soared  round  the  arches ;  the  violins 
were  fine,  violas,  —  like  a  regular  Higginson  concert, 
only  up  on  the  side  of  a  cathedral.  Meanwhile  the 
service  was  going  on,  archbishop  and  people  in  lace 
night  gowns  bustling  round  the  mantelpiece,  rows  of 
priests  holding  candles,  and  little  boys  skurrying 
about,  the  tea-bell  ringing,  and  everybody  kneeling 
for  the  Host.  This  never  impresses  me  at  all,  but 
the  grand  music  was  soaring  above  it  all.  I  enjoyed 
it  intensely. 

This  was  rather  funny :  We  waited  after  mass  was 
over  to  see  the  sacristan  about  precious  objects,  and 
could  see  into  the  sacristy  where  all,  thirty  or  forty, 
the  worthy  priests  were  now  taking  off  their  little 
lace-trimmed  camisoles  and  their  quilted  petticoats; 
each  stood  in  front  of  his  own  high  cupboard,  and 
was  hurrying  off  his  things  and  folding  them  up  to 
put  away,  just  like  Mary  Hurlbut,  very  particular, 


MATUNUCK,    NEW    YORK,    EUROPE    311 

each.  It  seemed  to  be  which  should  get  through  first. 
Then  they  shut  their  cupboards  with  a  bang  and  came 
out  transformed  into  respectable,  elderly  gentlemen, 
like  Mr.  R.  C.  Winthrop,  took  their  umbrellas  and 
walked  away. 

I  now  hinted  to  Signora  that  I  was  beginning  to 
feel  hungry.  She  nodded  as  if  to  say,  "I'm  with 
you,"  and  led  the  way  to  the  best  restaurant  in  town, 
where  it  was  nice  and  warm  with  a  stove  (church  cold 
as  a  barn),  and  we  had  jesting  about  ordering  the 
colazione.  (I  paid  for  everything,  this  was  arranged 
by  Dr.  Layfield.)  The  garqon  and  Signora  asked  me 
if  I  liked  caccia,,  and  caccia  proved  to  be  larks  and 
veccaficos,  so  we  had  them,  but  so  small  that  I  added 
beefsteak  with  salad,  excellent.  We  had  soup  and 
risotto  first.  It  then  appeared  that  our  train  didn't 
return  till  six-forty-five !  and  here  it  was  about  one ! 
But  the  Signora  had  her  plan;  she  took  me  to  a 
friend's  house  where  there  was  a  pretty  room  on  a 
balcony,  with  a  bed ! !  and  Signora  there  left  me  for 
two  hours,  while  she  ran  round  town  seeing  her 
friends.  I  slept  like  a  top,  and  woke  up  wondering 
where  I  might  be,  as  I  stared  at  the  flower-frescoed 
ceiling,  jumped  up,  and  wrote  a  note  to  Russell  Sulli- 
van, who  had  recommended  Lucca,  to  tell  him  I  was 
delighted  with  it,  only  in  despair  at  being  torn  away 
from  it  so  soon. 

The  Signora  now  took  me  round  the  town;  to 
Palazzo  Manci,  one  of  the  most  beautiful,  where  she 
rang  the  bell,  said  "  io  Maggi"  and  we  were  admitted 
to  the  picture-gallery.  Chiefly  Dutch  pictures,  and 
portraits  de  famiglia.  About  five  she  let  me  get 
into  a  legno  with  her,  and  accomplish  my  longing, 
viz.,  to  drive  round  the  town  up  on  the  battlements ! 
You  can't  think  how  splendid  it  is !  There  are  trees, 
great  old  sycamores,  up  there  just  like  Beacon  Street 
Mall,  only  it's  away  up  on  top  of  the  walls,  which. 


312    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

slope  down  within  the  city  all  green;  the  road  up 
there,  broad  for  several  carriages,  with  side-walks 
under  the  trees  and  seats  looking  off  on  the  mountains 
and  plains,  or  back  down  on  the  town,  or  across  it,  to 
the  Cathedral  and  other  towers.  Never  was  anything 
so  delightful,  and,  lo!  the  sun  broke  loose  and  set 
brilliantly  just  as  we  were  leaving  it.  It  is  three 
miles  to  drive  round  the  whole ;  we  had  a  nice  driver. 
We  then  went  back  to  friend's  house,  and  hugged 
scaldini  to  our  stomachs,  while  daughter  played  and 
sung  very  well.  Then,  pitch  dark,  walked  to  the 
stazione,  and  arrived  here  at  8  p.  M.  most  dead,  but 
happy.  I  never  talked  so  much  Italian  in  my  life. 
More  in  my  next. 

SUSIE. 

To  Miss  LTJOEETIA  P.  HALE 

NAPLES,  February  6, 1897. 

DEAE  LUCRETiA, —  It's  lovely  here.  See?  I  am 
fronting  Vesuvius  right  over  there.  The  sun  re- 
sumed its  place  of  rising  as  at  Algiers,  and  I  have 
been  sitting  in  my  sunny  balcony,  till  the  stone  step 
of  it  got  rather  hard,  and  I  got  rather  too  warm. 
For  it 's  delightful  and  warm  here,  and  I  'm  in  my 
foulard  dressage,  instead  of  red  bear.  Last  night 
when  all  the  little  lights  came  out  round  this  curve 
and  up  the  hill,  I  felt  as  if  I  myself  were  a  (highly 
coloured)  part  of  one  of  those  highly  coloured  pic- 
tures of  Naples  that  we  've  always  been  seeing  from 
childhood  up,  with  Vesuvius  lighted  just  like  a  cigar. 
He  is  rather  covered  with  clouds,  but  smoking  away 
right  here.  .  .  . 

Now  as  Baedekers  say:  For  Route  Pisa-to-Naples 
consult  —  Anne  Bursley's  last  which  I  wrote  her  yes- 
terday. It  depicts  the  trajet  hither,  after  which  I 
take  up. 


MATUNUCK,  NEW  YORK,  EUROPE  313 

The  Stazione  Centrale  is  as  far  certainly  as  39 
Highland  Street  from  Eastern  R.  R.  Station.  Omni- 
bus took  forever  to  get  here  through  streets  very  much 
like  New  York,  only  over  here,  there  are  always  amaz- 
ing sights,  the  women  bare-headed ;  one  lady  walking 
along  with  her  husband,  taking  his  arm  while  he  had 
a  large,  flat  basket  of  fruit  on  his  head.  Little  donkey 
moving  a  family,  with  all  the  furniture  piled  on  a 
great  long  cart,  the  lady  of  the  house  sitting  up  be- 
hind, and  the  gentleman  driving  the  little  donkey. 
Immense,  great  ugly  wreaths  of  beautiful  flowers 
stiffly  arranged,  carried  about  by  flower-venders. 
Finally  we  came  out  on  this  long  Piazza  Umberto, 
and  I  reached  my  room  very  soon.  They  were  ex- 
pecting me  here,  and  handed  out  three  or  four  letters 
(from  B.  F.  Stevens,  Nora  Godwin,  May  Davis).  I 
sent  a  messenger  at  once  to  old  W.  J.  Turner  for  my 
American  letters,  —  but  fully  expected  to  wait,  and 
half  expected  some  blunder  would  prevent  his  send- 
ing them  thus.  So  I  had  coffee  in  my  room,  and  then 
a  warm  bath  in  a  luxurious  marble  receptacle,  where 
I  could  float,  it  was  so  deep,  with  all  sorts  of  big  and 
small  linge.  Thence  I  came  back  and  climbed  into 
a  high  and  excellent  bed,  while  a  grindage  played 
(and  is  playing  now)  yanky  (not  Yankee)  waltzes 
below.  But  though  tired,  I  was  rather  excited,  espe- 
cially as  other  letters  kept  tapping  at  the  door,  and 
chiefly  the  one  I  have  been  in  sore  need  of,  from  Carry 
Weld,  settling  all  about  our  meeting  at  Messina, 
Hotel  Victoria,  February  14,  to  go  at  once  to  Taor- 
mina,  the  loveliest  spot  on  earth.  So  now  I  have  only 
to  keep  very  calm  and  stay  on  here  till  it 's  time  to 
cross  'twixt  "  Scilly  and  Charib  "  to  Messina.  Why 
I  am  here  is  that  it  seemed  the  best  headquarters  for 
letters,  and  in  case  of  doubt,  C.  Weld  was  most  likely 
to  write  me  here,  or  be  here  herself. 

So  at  10  A.  M.  I  came  out  of  bed  and  began  to  dress, 


314    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

when  tap  again  at  the  door,  little  smiling  messenger 
boy  from  Turner  with  great  bunch  of  sixteen  letters 
from  America,  besides  a  New  England  magazine  from 
Papa.  Imagine  me  settling  in  excellent  arm-chair 
in  the  sun,  alongside  of  Vesuvius,  and  going  through 
the  whole  batch.  Such  nice  ones,  —  and  you  know, 
I  've  been  all  this  time  sort  of  out  in  the  wilderness. 
I  now  felt  warmed  and  clothed  about  with  civilisa- 
tion, and  indeed  affection;  coming  to  this  great  city 
hotel  is  the  way  I  feel  when  I  finally  abandon  Matu- 
nuck  and  my  farouche  solitude,  and  come  up  at  mid- 
night to  Thorndike,  a  good,  warm  room,  electric,  a 
milk  punch,  good  bed,  and  above  all,  letters  from  you 
and  other  constituents.  So  now  I  sate  and  read  and 
read.  It  took  an  hour  to  read  them  through  the  first 
time.  .  .  . 

I  was  perfectly  sure  coming  to  this  perfectly  re- 
spectable house  that  somebody  I  knew  would  be  here, 
and  as  I  had  seen  no  soul  I  ever  saw  before  since  part- 
ing from  Nora  Godwin,  and  had  talked  nothing  but 
haythen  languages,  I  was  quite  ripe  to  drop  into  the 
arms  of  the  first  American.  As  in  Fooley  Ann,  you 
wonder  what  card  near  the  bottom  of  the  thirteen  it 
will  be  to  come  to  the  rescue  and  win  the  game,  so  at 
one,  time  for  lunch,  as  I  entered  the  great  big  sola, 
open  to  the  top  of  the  hotel,  glassed  over  there,  big 
palms  growing  in  it,  where  folks  read  their  news- 
papers and  take  coffee  at  little  marble  tables,  I  won- 
dered who  it  would  be:  —  Ernest  Longfellow  and 
Mrs.,  sitting  there,  waiting  for  luncheon.  This  was 
a  very  nice  card.  They  are  delighted  to  see  me, 
rather  bored  by  themselves,  and  as  we  are  always 
meeting  in  strange  countries,  quite  natural.  They  at 
once  had  me  put  with  them  at  the  table,  and  invited 
me  to  their  charming  parlour.  I  feel  most  respectable 
under  their  wing,  and,  indeed,  I  like  them  much.  .  .  . 

I  don't  mean  to  go  up  Pompeii  or  down  Vesuvius 


MATUNUCK,  NEW  YOKK,  EUROPE  315 

or  any  of  those  things.  Amalfi  is  lovely,  and  the 
Longfellows  are  the  priests  thereof,  but  I  think  I 
stay  right  here,  write  my  letters,  look  out  of  window, 
go  to  see  all  the  Pompeii  things  in  the  Museo  right 
here,  and  enjoy  the  luxuries  of  first-class  living  at 
three  dollars  a  day,  —  't  is  but  a  week,  and  then,  ho ! 
for  Messina.  I  am  quite  reconciled  to  the  Sicily 
plan.  Carry  Weld  is  so  cordial,  and  so  longing  to  see 
me.  After  that  I  shall  just  go  on  to  Cannes  and  see 
my  nice  people  at  Hotel  de  la  Plage.  They  have 
written  me,  —  I  mean  the  gentlemanly  proprietor 
and  his  wife,  who  love  me,  and  urge  me  to  do  so. 
Then  Paris  for  a  week,  then  London,  Stevens'  for  a 
week,  and  then  home  to  arrive  about  the  middle  of 
May.  Just  laying  out  the  plan  makes  it  seem  as 
if  it  were  over  already !  So  no  more  now. 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  MES.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

CANNES,  March  24,  1897. 

Such  a  delicious  drive,  and  you  with  me  (un- 
awares) through  country  roads,  and  every  tree  just 
flushed  with  sheen,  the  first  minute  of  real  spring- 
time, poplars  and  willows  and  oaks  and  sycamores 
and  maples  with  hanging  things,  and  ladies  stepping 
out  of  green  fields  with  great  bunches  of  red  flowers, 
yellow  flowers,  blue,  purple,  white  flowers,  and  a 
river  with  clear  water  sparkling  over  stones,  and  the 
earth  smelling  newly  ploughed,  and  the  lawn-cutters 
making  hay  smells,  and  the  Golf  Club,  and  caddies 
caddying  and  putters  puttering  and  toads  toadying 
and  Dukes  and  Princes  and  Counts  counting,  and  the 
Grand  Duke  of  Russia  and  so,  femme  in  a  carriage, 
and  the  blue  sea  sparkling,  and  the  Jardin  Publique 
with  music,  and  little  boys  drawn  in  carts,  and 
donkeys  with  side-saddles,  and  English  women  hold- 


316    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

ing  up  their  petticoats  to  the  skin,  and  fish  shining  in 
the  fish-markets,  and  small  boats  everywhere,  and 
Britannia  ruling  the  waves.  Hurry  up  and  come 
before  it  is  all  gone  by. 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  MRS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 
AND 

MlSS  M.  L.   GODDAKD 

CANNES,  Tuesday,  March  31,  1897. 
An  Adventure 

My  dears,  I  am  all  entirely  and  completely  packed, 
my  trunk  is  locked,  my  strap  is  rolled,  only  the  little 
Angel  is  yawning  to  receive  these  writing  materials 
when  I  am  done,  and  there's  lots  of  time.  No  en- 
trecote  a  la  Caroline  et  Bearnaise  this  time,  but  the 
ordinary  lunch  of  commerce,  —  and  off  in  the  bus  to 
the  train. 

Now  you  see,  yesterday  we  had  engaged  Lambert 
for  the  day.  Lambert 's  the  beautiful,  who  looks  and 
is  exactly  like  Charley  Longfellow,  viewed  from  the 
marine  side  of  him,  and  would  he  not  have  been  hap- 
pier, the  real  old  Charles  (  ?)  if  he  had  earned  his  liv- 
ing sailing  round  this  bay  in  the  best  boat  of  all,  and 
winning  every  prize  for  fast  sailing,  as  he  did  last 
Sunday,  for  the  Alsace  and  Lorraine,  his  nice,  neat, 
pretty  boat,  that  goes  like  the  wind.  These  boats 
have  two  masts,  Louisa,  a  large  sail,  and  a  small  one 
on  the  after-mast.  They  have  comfortable  seats  and 
neat  cushions  in  the  standing  room,  and  crickets  for 
feet. 

So  not  much  after  eight,  as  I  was  finishing  my 
coffee,  Lambert  came  to  the  bedroom  door  to  know 
if  ces  dames  intended  to  go.  I  suggested  it  was 


MATTOUCK,    NEW    YORK,    EUROPE     317 

raining  at  the  moment,  but  he  said  it  was  "  un  grain 
seulement,"  and,  lo !  the  boat  was  already  before  my 
window,  bobbing  up  and  down,  with  the  American 
flag,  in  my  honour,  floating  from  the  mast.  I  may  as 
well  tell  you  that  this  boat  proved  to  be  the  Ville  de 
Londres,  and  this  Lambert,  the  brother  of  Charles 
Longfellow,  on  account  of  Lambert's  great  preoccupa- 
tions in  connection  with  winning  the  prize  the  day 
before ;  but  Lambert's  brother  is  almost  as  beautiful 
as  Lambert.  So  by  and  by  Mrs.  Braham  got  through 
her  coffee  and  came  down,  and  all  the  household  took 
our  wraps  or  came  to  the  door,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Thompson  waved  from  their  window,  and  we  crossed 
the  boulevard  to  the  beach,  and  walked  across  a  plank 
to  the  Ville  de  Londres.  Did  I  tell  you  about  Mrs. 
Braham?  She  is  a  most  excellent,  stout,  little  Eng- 
lish lady  from  Streatham.  I  take  her  along  with  me 
on  these  drives  and  sails,  for  she  perfectly  delights  in 
them,  helps  the  paying  part,  and  is  a  worthy  agree- 
able companion,  very  well  bred,  an  immense  prattler, 
but  quite  intelligent. 

The  day  began  to  be  beautiful,  such  blue  sky  and 
fleecy  clouds,  and  though  he  had  to  row  at  first,  the 
wind  soon  sprang  up  and  we  were  clipping  along, 
with  one  rail  down,  and  the  waves  bumping  against 
the  prow.  I  always  sit  up  in  the  bow  against  the  fore- 
mast, and  little  Mrs.  Braham  was  planted  at  the 
stern,  her  short  legs  firmly  clinging  to  a  footstool,  and 
perfectly  happy.  I  can't  tell  you  how  beautiful  the 
receding  town  is,  with  its  hills  at  the  back  and  pretty 
villas,  and  soon  les  Alpes  maritimes  rising  in  the 
background,  snow-covered  and  shining  in  the  sun. 
We  sailed  past  Isle  St.  Marguerite  and  soon  came 
along  to  St.  Honorat;  already  they  had  reefed  the 
mainsail  and  taken  in  a  small  one,  and  we  rushed 
along  on  the  outward  tack  like  mad,  then  went  about 
and  anchored  in  the  sweetest  haven,  deep  emerald 


318    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

water  amongst  rocks,  on  a  shore  all  pine  trees,  car- 
peted with  brown  pine  needles,  a  small  cabaret,  the 
only  house,  and  little  tables  set  out  with  benches 
before  it,  under  the  trees  and  close  to  the  sparkling 
water.  Great  big  splendid  parasol  pines,  there  are. 

So  while  our  lunch  was  preparing,  Mrs.  Braham 
and  I  walked  all  round  the  island,  under  the  pines, 
to  an  old  castle  there  is,  where  Francis  I  was  impris- 
oned a  while  after  Pavia,  and  along  to  the  grounds  of 
a  monastery,  where  old  monks  make  (and  drink)  a 
kind  of  Chartreuse;  and  through  their  fields,  rather 
neglected,  but  all  the  better  for  poppies  and  calen- 
dulas and  dandelions  and  borage;  and  when  we  got 
back  the  lunch  was  ready,  and  we  ate  our  beloved 
oysters,  and  a  very  good  chop,  and  pommes,  with  a 
bottle  of  Sauterne,  all  out  under  the  great  pines,  and 
the  hens  came  and  ate  the  fragments.  It  was  per- 
fectly beautiful  on  account  of  sparkling  whitecaps 
on  the  crests  of  the  intensely  peacock  waves,  and  this 
was  because  the  wind,  my  dears,  was  rising,  and  this 
is  where  the  adventure  part  begins. 

Well,  just  then  came  along  Lambert,  his  black  eyes 
very  big,  and  said  that  this  was  a  mistral  that  was 
blowing,  and  getting  stronger  every  moment,  and  that 
it  would  be  impossible  to  leave  the  island  then  (as 
intended),  and  that  we  must  wait  and  see,  —  if  ces 
dames  would  forgive  him,  as  it  really  wasn't  his 
fault.  So  these  dames  were  very  amiable,  and  found 
a  sheltered  place  to  sit  and  watch  the  proceedings. 
The  house  wasn't  appetising,  and  Lambert  and  his 
friends  were  playing  backgammon  inside  in  the  chief 
room,  but  we  found  a  pile  of  bricks,  or  rather  tiles, 
waiting  to  be  a  roof,  which  made  a  fairly  comfortable 
sofa,  and  perfect  shelter  from  the  wind,  and  there  we 
sate  and  prattled  and  watched  the  glorious  waves  in 
the  narrow  channel.  After  a  time  I  stirred  about,  and 
confess  was  a  bit  disturbed  to  perceive  that  the  Ville 


MATUNUCK,    NEW    YOKE,    EUEOPE     319 

de  Londres  was  gone,  no  sign  of  her  at  her  moorings, 
but  Mrs.  Braham  took  it  comfortably,  and  prattled 
away,  and  pretty  soon  Lambert  appeared  from  a  re- 
mote part  of  the  island  and.said  they  had  been  obliged 
to  mettre  the  boat  a  terre.  I  thought  if  it  had  actu- 
ally come  to  burying  the  boat  in  the  ground,  things 
were  getting  pretty  bad;  he  said  there  was  no  hope 
to  return  in  the  boat  that  night !  but  that  the  vapeur 
which  runs  daily  from  Cannes,  on  excursions,  was 
due  at  two,  and  that  ces  dames  had  better  go  back  in 
the  vapeur ,  and  moreover,  in  case  the  vapeur  didn't 
come  out,  as  was  quite  possible,  in  such  a  tempest,  he 
had  already  engaged  two  lits  for  these  dames  at  the 
cabaret,  the  only  ones  there  were.  This  was  all  rather 
startling,  especially  as  it  was  now  three  and  no  signs 
of  the  vapeur.  Half  a  dozen  excursionists  (pic- 
nickers) turned  up,  and  began  to  stroll  round  in  an 
anxious  manner,  looking  towards  the  mainland, 
where  was  no  sign  of  a  vapeur,  or  anything  else,  for 
that  matter.  I  suggested  to  Mrs.  Braham  that  as  we 
had  the  two  lits  we  should  go  and  lie  on  them  for  a 
while,  —  but  it  seemed  they  were  not  prepared  and 
could  n't  be  till  night,  which  augured  ill  for  their  ex- 
cellence. However,  we  settled  down  on  our  brick 
sofa  again  with  great  cheerfulness.  Mrs.  B.  was  a 
dandy,  she  didn't  fuss  nor  worry  nor  wonder  what 
would  happen,  but  prattled  away  in  a  pleasing  man- 
ner, while  I  dozed.  Now  came  along  Lambert  say- 
ing that  they  thought  they  could  get  the  boat  to  the 
Golfe  Inan,  and  that  if  these  dames  like  to  risk  it 
they  could  go,  too,  and  take  the  train  there  back  to 
Cannes.  This  was  something  like  sailing  for  New 
Bedford  from  Nahant,  when  your  home  is  in  New- 
buryport,  —  still  you  know  there  is  a  train  from  New 
Bedford.  The  wind,  he  said,  would  be  favourable 
for  Golfe  Inan,  whereas  hopeless  to  tack  in  the  teeth 
of  it,  to  Cannes.  "  But  can  you  take  the  boat  out  of 


320    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

the  ground ? "  " Oh,  yes,  madame,  toute  de  suite" 
He  now  said  that  two  other  dames  were  very  anxious 
about  getting  back,  they  came  in  the  vapeur,  and  it 
might  not  arrive,  so  did  I  mind  if  they  came  along 
with  us  ?  "  Not  at  all,  I  '11  go  and  ask  them,"  said  I, 
and  here  comes  the  excellent  episode  of  the  English. 
I  went  up  to  rather  a  nice-looking  gentlewoman. 
"Vous  etes  Frangaise?"  "Non,  je  suis  Anglaise" 
" Alors"  said  I,  "we  will  speak  English.  I  have 
my  boat  here  and  we  are  going  back  in  it,  to  Golfe 
Inan,  to  take  the  train  to  Cannes.  We  should  be  glad 
to  have  you  come,  too,  if  you  like."  "Euogh,  but 
you  know  we  came  in  the  steamer."  "Yes,  I  know, 
but  the  steamer  is  now  overdue,  and  no  signs  of  it, 
and  there  seems  a  chance  of  having  to  spend  the  night 
here,  which  would  n't  be  very  pleasant."  "  Euogh, 
reely,  but  where  did  you  come  from  ? "  she  said.  "  I 
came  from  Cannes,"  said  I,  rather  coolly,  for  I  was 
getting  tired  of  this.  "Did  you,  really,  but  I  did 
not  see  you  on  the  steamer."  "  No,"  said  I,  "  because 
I  came  in  my  own  boat,  with  this  man,  and  we  are 
waiting  to  know  if  you  would  like  to  go  back  with 
us."  "  I  should  n't  think  of  doing  such  a  thing  with- 
out consulting  my  friend,"  said  she,  and  without  a 
word  of  thanks  turned  on  her  heel  and  walked  off.  I 
was  madder  than  thunder.  "  Come  along,  Lambert," 
said  I,  and  we  hurried  to  the  remote  place  where  the 
boat  was,  picking  up  Mrs.  Braham,  to  whom  I  related 
the  rudeness  of  her  countrywoman.  She  was  much 
more  enraged  than  I  was. 

The  boat  was  in  a  snug  little  cove,  its  sails  neatly 
folded,  but  our  two  men  with  a  friend  had  her  out  in 
a  trice,  and  we  were  just  stepping  on  board,  when 
along  came  the  English  women,  two  of  them,  with 
their  man.  They  came  up  and  without  a  word  to  us 
began  bargaining  with  Lambert.  "Combiang  de 
tong  faut-il  pour  alter  au  terre  ?  "  said  the  man,  very 


MATUNUCK,  NEW  YORK,  EUROPE  321 

rudely,  as  to  a  menial.  "  Une  demie  heure"  said 
Lambert.  "  But  can  you  guarantee  that  there 's  no 
risk  ? "  the  man  began ;  I  stepped  into  the  boat,  "  Par- 
tom,  Lambert,  nous  n'avons  pas  de  temps  a  perdre," 
and  in  a  flash  we  were  off,  the  sails  shaken  out,  and 
going  like  a  shot  toward  the  land,  leaving  the  three 
English  gawping  on  the  rocks. 

Mrs.  Braham  haughtily  settled  herself  an  her 
wrap,  glancing  up  at  the  English,  "You'd  much 
better  wait  for  your  steamer ;  I  dare  say  it  will  pick 
you  up  by  and  by,"  in  the  most  patronising  manner. 
Set  an  English  to  snub  an  English.  As  we  sailed 
away,  Mrs.  B.  remarked,  "Nasty  things,  I  hope 
they  '11  be  drowned." 

But  as  for  us,  we  flew,  and  under  the  lee  of  St. 
Marguerite's  had  none  too  much  wind,  and  when  we 
came  near  Golfe  Inan  it  proved  that  after  all  we 
could  face  the  breeze  and  sail  all  along  the  bay  to  our 
own  port,  which  we  reached  in  perfect  safety  about 
five,  just  as  the  sky  was  setting  to  work  on  a  glorious 
red  sunset.  To  Mrs.  Braham's  regret,  we  saw  the 
little  tug  on  its  way  to  the  island,  long  after  we  got 
back  to  our  comfortable  rooms  and  pretty  windows; 
we  saw  the  little  vapeur  labouring  painfully  with  the 
waves,  and  the  English,  no  doubt,  into  port. 

Meanwhile,  everybody  here  had  been  watching  the 
mistral,  which  made  everything  fly  on  land,  —  dust, 
brickbats ;  and  when  we  came  back,  gargons  and  por- 
ters hastened  to  meet  us  to  know  our  adventures. 
We  were  most  lucky  in  having  landed  on  the  island 
before  the  blow  began,  for  as  it  happened,  nothing 
really  happened,  and  we  were  quits,  with  a  little  bit 
of  a  scare.  But  I  laugh  whenever  I  think  of  those 
English,  and  of  Mrs.  Braham's  disgust  at  'em.  .  .  . 

Always  yours, 

SUSIE. 


322    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

To  MKS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

PARIS,  FRANCE,  April  11,  1897. 

Oh!  my  dears,  how  nice  to  get  your  letter  this 
morning  just  when  I  was  whetting  my  pen  to  write 
to  you,  and  now  you  are  in  Nice,  which  saves  ten 
centimes  on  the  postage ;  but,  alas !  after  this  I  shall 
be  diminishing  in  the  distance,  and  these  delightful 
letters  won't  be  half  so  good  to  write  or  read.  But 
you  try  to  keep  it  up  a  little,  won't  you  ?  and  I  will 
write  voluminously  from  the  briny  deep.  All  you 
say  is  most  interesting.  Our  weather  the  same  here, 
viz.,  horrid  for  a  day  or  two,  sloppy,  rainy,  raw,  cold, 
but  now  it 's  turned  good,  I  do  believe,  and  excellent 
to  run  about  in.  Marronniers  all  green  with  buds 
about  to  burst,  and  lilacs  in  all  the  stalls,  and  yellow 
flowers.  Oh!  Paris  is  enchanting,  it  goes  straight 
to  my  head,  and  I  wish  I  could  be  here  a  month.  .  .  . 

There  was  a  note  from  Mrs.  Greene,  by  which  I 
went  on  Wednesday  to  see  the  dear  lady.  She  is 
white,  diaphanous,  like  a  pale  leaf  quivering  to  go, 
slightly  deaf,  but  most  lovely.  There  was  a  horrid 
woman  there  boring  her  about  the  Pope  and  young 
American  women,  and  wanting  money,  who,  the  more 
she  saw  we  wanted  to  be  alone,  went  on  the  more 
about  the  Pope,  but  we  had  a  nice  talk  all  the  same, 
and  I  am  going  again  to-day  at  three.  She  is  im- 
mensely interested  in  my  trip  with  you.  She  says 
she  is  eighty-one.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 


MATUNUCK,  NEW  YORK,  EUROPE  323 

To  Miss  CAROLINE  P.  ATKINSON 

AND 
Miss  MARY  E.  WILLIAMS 

STJRBITON,  Easter  Sunday,  April  18,  1897. 

MY  DEAR  GIRLS,  MAMIE  AND  CARLA, 1  WRS  OH  the 

edge  of  writing  you,  and  in  comes  Mamie's  "  splahn- 
did  "  letter  of  April  8,  so  I  will  direct  this  to  her,  for 
you  two  were  in  my  mind  so  much  in  Paris !  I  was 
nearly  crazy,  and  kept  asking  myself  why  I  had 
wasted  a  minute  elsewhere.  Let's  go  and  live  in 
Paris.  I  long  to  hire  a  small  apartment,  throw  in  a 
few  meubles,  such  fun  to  buy  them,  then  keep  house, 
run  out  and  buy  a  nice  duck,  some  green  peas,  fat 
strawberries,  and  a  little  cream  cheese,  and  a  bunch  of 
wall-flowers.  What  more  could  one  ask !  Oh !  it  was 
just  lovely.  We  were  at  rue  de  Beaune,  No.  5, — 
"  we  "  was  Nora  Godwin,  who  came  up  to  Paris  with 
me.  She  is  a  funny  companion  for  me,  for  she  is 
by  the  way  of  being  gloomy,  at  times,  and  that  bores 
me,  because  I  am  so  ridiculously  cheerful,  which 
bores  her.  However,  we  get  on  finely,  and  it 's  a  con- 
venience to  be  with  somebody,  and  we  were  perfectly 
independent  of  each  other. 

There  was  the  river,  whenever  we  came  out  of  our 
little  street,  and  the  Pont  Royal  just  opposite,  and 
horses  trot-trot,  and  great  omnibuses,  and  bateaux 
mouches  shooting  under,  and  Paris  men  with  tall 
hats  and  canes  and  pointed  toes,  and  women  in  felt 
slippers  holding  up  their  petticoats  to  the  arm-pits, 
and  little  boys  going  to  school,  —  it  made  me  wild. 
Of  course,  I  went  to  see  dear  Mrs.  Greene,  and  twice 
walked  back  all  the  way  through  Champs  Elysees,  the 
horse-chestnut  trees  in  full  leaf,  and  the  blossoms 
about  to  come  out.  It  was  horse-show,  and  the  Rond 
Point  chockful  of  waiting  carriages  and  staring 


324         LETTERS    OF   SUSAN   HALE 

crowds  and  footmen  wading  in  tall  boots  and  buttons, 
and  grandes  dames  with  flaring  hats  piled  high  with 
flowers,  fruit,  and  game,  and  four-in-hands  with 
outriders. 

To  MBS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

SURBITON,  April  %6, 1897. 
(8  A.  M.    In  bed.} 

DEAREST  OF  CAROLINES,  —  Now  this  is  really  my 
last  will  and  testament  before  leaving  this  side  the 
Atlantic,  for  I  shall  be  on  my  legs  every  mortal  in- 
stant minute  from  now  till  I  start  on  Thursday.  I 
have  your  good  letter  of  Easter  Sunday.  It  disgusts 
me  to  have  you  in  those  places  without  me.  Perhaps 
to-day  you  are  starting  on  your  drive.  I  wish  Kumpf 
would  take  me  more  seriously.  Why  should  she 
laugh  at  the  mere  back  of  a  letter  from  me  ?  How- 
ever, I  think  of  her  with  the  greatest  affection,  and 
so  you  may  say. 

Oh,  heavens !  the  things  I  have  done  and  seen  here. 
I  would  that  my  pen  could  utter  the  thoughts  that 
arise  in  me.  Chief  of  all  was  our  great  expedition 
to  Winchester,  which  dear  old  B.  F.  Stevens  (here 
comes  my  breakfast,  but,  by  the  way,  my  cold  is 
about  well,  and  I  am  in  fine  condition,  only  it's  the 
custom  of  the  country  to  wallow  mornings)  contrived 
for  me.  We  went  to  Salisbury  by  train,  and  then 
drove  in  open  carriage  nearly  all  the  way  to  Winches- 
ter, through  such  lanes!  The  party  was  six  of  us, 
two  parsons,  English,  loaded  to  the  muzzle  with 
archeology,  two  stray  Vermonters,  with  B.  F.  Stevens 
and  myself,  all  but  me  men,  and  smoking  incessantly. 
We  stopped  every  mile  or  two  to  see  an  old  church  or 
something,  and  my  head  is  still  full  of  early  perpen- 
dicular and  tumble-down  Norman,  not  to  speak  of 
Elizabethan  and  Jacobean  and  Gothic  and  reredoses 


MATOTUCK,    NEW   YOKK,   EUKOPE    325 

and  chantries  and  sepulchres  and  saints.  Those  old 
churches  are  wonderfully  interesting,  but  what  I 
really  and  truly  delight  in  is  the  hedgerows  all  full 
of  primroses  with  violets  alongside  of  'em,  blackthorn 
all  in  blossom,  full  of  blackbirds,  turf  so  thick  your 
foot  sinks  in  it,  holly  hedges  with  the  berries  still  on, 
and  around  each  Cathedral  its  beautiful  grounds 
with  immense  great  trees,  all  a  sheen  of  promise  just 
now,  and  that  soft  veil  of  English  atmosphere  between 
everything,  so  to  speak.  The  weather  was  perfect, 
just  like  English  water-colours,  fluffy  white  clouds 
with  chunks  of  blue  between.  It 's  Constable's  coun- 
try, you  know,  and  everything  looked  like  his  pic- 
tures, which  I  had  just  been  seeing  over  again,  in  the 
National  Gallery.  We  stopped  for  tea  and  bread  and 
butter  at  old  inns  with  swinging  signs;  lunched  at 
"  the  Angel "  and  "  took  our  doles  "  of  beer  and  bread 
at  the  gateway  of  St.  Cross  Hospital,  where  it  has 
been  dispensed  daily  since  the  year  1  B.  c.  The  top 
of  every  hill  is  a  Roman  camp ;  King  Alfred  wrote 
the  ten  commandments  in  the  ruins  of  Wolvesey,  now 
a  mass  of  wall-flowers  and  walls.  Everything  that 
Henry  VIII  spared  was  destroyed  by  Cromwell, 
and  Dean  Kitchen  has  written  up  the  whole  business. 
You  see  my  little  head  has  got  somewhat  mixed,  and 
I  laugh  whenever  I  think  of  the  condition  of  Stone, 
a  callow  youth  that  went  with  us,  from  St.  Johnsbury, 
Vermont,  his  first  outing  away  from  his  Ma.  He 
sailed  next  day  for  America  on  the  Saint  Paul,  and 
he  thinks  he  is  going  to  "  write  this  up  "  for  the  "  St. 
Johnsbury  Caledonian"  Ha!  ha!  By  the  way, 
Jane  Austen,  novelist,  died  at  Winchester.  I  saw  her 
house.  The  present  Dean,  a  dear  man  with  his  legs 
all  buttoned  up  in  reverential  gaiters,  invited  us  to 
come  and  see  his  stable,  which  is  where  the  pilgrims 
of  "  Canterbury  Tales  "  used  to  stop. 

We  put  up  for  the  night  at  "The  George,"  Winches- 


326    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

ter,  an  excellent  hotel,  witli  electric  and  all  modern 
comforts  engrafted  on  the  old  place,  which  keeps 
great  old  fireplace  we  could  sit  in,  and  the  old  gal- 
leries from  Shakespeare's  time;  the  bed  I  slept  in 
three  miles  square,  or  thereabouts.  My,  but  it  was 
good  after  all  that  standing  round. 

This  is  but  a  small  pattern  of  the  things  I  Ve  been 
doing,  amongst  others  running  round  Regent  Street 
and  spending  my  last  guinea  on  a  nice  little  cape  at 
Scott  Adies  (not  half  so  big  as  Louisa's),  acquiring 
the  English  language,  and  learning  to  drop  my 
Haitch  (H.).  B.  F.  Stevens  is  a  most  dear  man;  if 
you  are  in  London,  make  his  acquaintance  and  order 
your  books  of  him,  4  Trafalgar  Square. 

Last  evening  in  the  long  twilight  we  strolled  along 
the  Thames  toward  Hampton  Court,  oh,  so  pretty. 
I  've  got  a  great  cabin  all  to  myself,  on  Mobile,  with 
two  port-holes,  very  likely  open  all  the  way,  —  and 
expect  a  good  voyage,  for  which  I  am  laying  in  books, 
sewing,  and  writing  materials ;  —  to  reach  !N".  Y. 
May  10.  I  shall  think  of  you  lying  off  at  Bellagio, 
but  don't  neglect  to  mend  your  catarrh  at  Ems,  or 
somewhere,  and  come  home,  dear,  in  the  fall.  I 
shall  continue  to  write,  but  it  won't  be  the  same 
thing.  .  .  .  Lots  of  love  to  both  from 

SUSIE. 


CHAPTER   X 

BOSTON,   NEW   YORK,   CALIFORNIA, 
MADEIRA,   MATUNUCK 

(1898-1902) 
To  MRS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

MATTJNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND, 

September  19,  1897. 

...  I  had  to  go  to  town  on  account  of  my  cele- 
brated back-tooth,  which  has  been  a  source  of  income 
to  dentists  since  1833.  It  finally  broke  off  and  came 
out  one  day  lately,  and  I  repaired  to  Piper  to  have 
it  repaired.  He  got  into  my  mouth  along  with  a  pick- 
axe and  telescope,  battering-ram  and  other  instru- 
ments, and  drove  a  lawn-cutting  machine  up  and 
down  my  jaws  for  a  couple  of  hours.  When  he  came 
out  he  said  he  meant  wonderful  improvements,  and 
it  seems  I  'm  to  have  a  bridge  and  a  mill-wheel  and. 
summit  and  crown  of  gold,  and  harps,  and  Lord 
knows  what,  better  than  new.  After  this,  and  to 
comfort  me  for  not  being  able  to  bite  anything  but 
the  inside  of  my  cheek,  George  took  me  to  Hoyt's 
"  Black  Sheep,"  of  which  the  scene  is  a  bar-room  in 
Tombstone,  Arizona,  and  coming  home,  we  went 
through  the  new^Touraine,  Young's  Hotel,  on  the 
corner  (opposite  Pelham),  which  was  all  blown  up 
last  year,  you  know.  It  is  perfectly  gorgeous. 
Kings  don't  know  what  they  are  talking  about  when 
they  speak  of  living  in  palaces.  This  is  really  beau- 
tifully furnished,  you  pass  from  Louis  Quatorze  to 
Elizabeth  Rococo,  all  hung  with  Ambuson  and  Or- 


328    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

mola.  There  is  a  great  library  with  real  books  bound 
in  calf,  and  make-believe  old  gentlemen  sitting  read- 
ing in  them.  Then  we  took  a  compass  to  Park  Street 
and  came  home  through  the  Subway.  Lord !  such  a 
wonder.  Broad  steps  lead  down  to  the  bowels  of  the 
burying-ground,  but  there  it  is  all  white  and  brilliant 
and  spotless  clean ;  a  wind  sweeps  through  the  chasm, 
and  open  cars  and  shut  cars,  Brookline  cars  and  Res- 
ervoir, shoot  to  and  fro ;  you  spring  on,  and  with  one 
dash  whirl  through  an  avenue  of  sparkling  lights  to 
the  feet  of  Charles  Sumner,  where  you  are  once  more 
unearthed,  and  all  for  five  cents,  in  three  minutes. 
'T  is  wonderful ;  methinks  my  father's  hair  would 
stand  on  end  to  see  the  sight. 

All  the  women  were  haggard  in  waterproofs  with 
bags,  running  in  and  out  of  Jordan  and  Marsh  when 
I  woke  up  the  next  morning.  I  bought  two  linen 
collars,  and  tried  on  a  black  silk  gown  Bolger  is  mak- 
ing, and  came  away. 

I  was  glad  to  get  back  here,  and  to  my  little  flock 
and  my  cold  lamb.  But  must  go  to-morrow  to  finish 
the  tooth  works.  My  mind  turns  me  now  to  clothes, 
for  I  have  been  so  long  living  in  shirt-waists,  I  feel 
as  if  I  might  break  in  two  at  the  body-line  like  a 
wasp.  I  long  for  a  whole  garment  in  one  piece. 
Little  we  reck  here  of  the  outside  world,  so  look  ye 
for  gossip  to  your  other  correspondents.  Now  here 
endeth  the  first  lesson,  for  I  've  a  chance  to  mail  this, 
by  my  gilt-edged  ladies  going  to  church.  So  bless 
you  every  one.  This  may  reach  you  at  Prague  or 
Vienna.  My !  can't  I  get  into  the  envelope  myself  ? 
Write,  write. 

YOUR  LOVING  SUSIE. 


BOSTON,  NEW  YORK,   CALIFORNIA    329 

To  MKS  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

HOTEL  THORNDIKE  AGAIN,  January  16, 1898. 
DEAREST  CAROLINE,  —  Since  I  was  here  before,  ill 
various  cities  I  have  seen  the  following  plays  at  differ- 
ent theatres:  "Never  again,"  "Idol's  eye,"  "Belle 
of  New  York,"  "Girl  from  Paris."  They  are  all 
mixed  up  in  my  mind  as  one  great  mush  of  legs,  jokes, 
songs,  and  falling  up-stairs.  The  most  important 
personage  in  any  one  of  these  plays,  —  General, 
Grandfather,  Priest,  Judge,  Pope,  or  Father-in-law, 
must  be  able  to  turn  a  double  somerset  at  a  moment's 
notice.  In  the  last,  four  red  girls  and  four  golf- 
rigged  boys  danced  a  sort  of  fandango,  which  ended 
by  the  boys  doing  leap-frog  over  the  girls,  after  which 
they  all  rolled  in  somersets  to  the  front  of  the  stage, 
—  a  cloud  of  white  petticoats  and  black  stockings. 
Such  is  the  state  of  culture  at  this  end  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  as  far  as  stage  requirements  go.  ... 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

2  EAST  35TH  STREET,  NEW  YORK, 
January  %1,  1898. 

DEAR  LUCRETIA,  —  Things  have  begun  in  a  lively 
manner,  so  there 's  scarcely  a  minute  to  write,  but  I 
will  scrabble  a  few  remarks  before  getting  ready  to 
drive  in  the  park  with  Mr.  Goddard.  It  poured 
in  sheets  all  yesterday,  but  to-day  is  sunny  and 
lovely.  .  .  . 

Francis  called  for  me  at  six-thirty,  my  dear,  in  a 
horseless  carriage,  they  are  quite  common  here  now, 
and  no  dearer  than  a  cab  (75  cents  for  us  both). 
They  look,  —  well,  I  can't  make  a  picture,  for  I 
haven't  seen  them  enough,  but  you  sit  like  a  han- 


330        LETTERS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

som,  looking  out  into  space  with  no  dasher,  nor  reins, 
nor  tail,  nor  legs,  nor  any  other  part  of  a  horse,  in 
front,  and  a  seen-less  man  behind  gets  along  some- 
how —  rubber  tires,  noiseless  springs,  the  thing  glides 
along  avoiding  teams  and  everything.  It 's  glorious. 
We  dined  at  "  The  Arena,"  a  sort  of  foreign  restau- 
rant, then  saw  Coghlan  in  a  beautiful  play,  "  Royal 
Box " ;  I  enjoyed  it  immensely,  the  first  straight 
piece  of  acting  I  have  seen  all  winter  —  or  last,  for 
that  matter.  Coghlan  is  apt  to  be  drunk,  but  last 
night  he  was  perfectly  sober,  at  his  best,  very  hand- 
some, and  I  think  the  finest  actor  going.  So  that 's 
my  events,  beyond  lots  of  talk  with  my  hosts, — 
some  Fooley  Ann,  —  and  good  sleep  in  a  great  big 
bed.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  MRS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

8  MEETING  STREET,  CHARLESTON,  SOUTH 
CAROLINA,  February  12,  1898. 
73  °  in  the  shade  9  o'clock  A.  M. 

Now,  my  dears,  you  shall  have  this  letter  to-day, 
whatever  befalls.  It  must  be  a  thousand  years  since 
I  wrote.  And  do  you  know  that  a  year  ago  to-day 
I  crossed  from  Naples  to  Messina,  and  spent  the 
night  in  the  meat-market,  so  to  speak,  for  my  room 
in  that  hole  (I  mean  hotel)  was  right  over  the  shop. 
And  then  Sunday  you  didn't  come,  and  then  Mon- 
day!! you  stood  in  the  doorway  of  my  room.  What 
a  shriek  there  was !  'T  is  but  a  step  from  the  sublime 
to  the  ridiculous,  and  here  I  am  sitting  by  myself 
in  another  strange  place,  but  no  door  will  open  for 
you  and  Kumpf  and  Louisa  to  come  in. 

I  couldn't  stand  it  any  longer  up  there  north. 
Very  amusing,  but  so  much  gadding  was  wearing  me 
out  no  place  could  I  hide  where  my  secret  sin,  to 


BOSTON,   NEW  YORK,   CALIFORNIA     331 

wit:  teas,  dinners,  theatres,  lunches,  didn't  find  me 
out.  New  York  was  the  most  delightful  and  most 
fatiguing  of  all.  About  these  times  nice  nephew 
Arthur  put  Charleston  into  my  head,  and  made  it 
easy  for  me  to  come  here.  He  knows  people  here, 
and  they  found  this  excellent  boarding-house  for  me. 
You  may  say,  "  Why  Charleston  ? "  but  then  I  shall 
say,  "  Why  not  ? "  You  see  it 's  easy  to  get  here,  and 
its  warm  (enough  and  not  too  warm),  and  it's  a  city 
with  comforts  and  conveniences,  and  it  isn't  one  of 
those  everlasting  pine-y  places,  full  of  consumptives 
and  sand.  Best  of  all,  I  don't  know  anybody  here, 
so  they  will  let  me  alone.  I  have,  to  be  sure,  some 
letters,  and  people  have  been  written  to  about  me,  but 
I  mean  not  to  poke  'em  up  till  I  Ve  got  thoroughly 
rested.  Meantime  I  'm  treating  the  place  like  a  for- 
eign resort,  going  round  quite  by  myself  to  see  "  the 
points  of  interest."  It's  a  pathetic  ruin  of  a  once 
brilliant  town,  dilapidated,  squalid,  rattled  with 
earthquakes,  torpid  with  the  departure  of  business, 
overrun  with  donkeys,  grass  growing  in  deserted 
streets,  —  but  some  of  these  things  make  it  interest- 
ing. It 's  a  network  of  trolley-cars,  and  I  can  jump 
into  one  of  them  and  ride  around  and  around  for 
hours.  When  you  get  far  enough  out,  the  long,  flat 
land  and  clumps  of  live-oaks,  and  sere  meadows,  in 
this  soft  southern  atmosphere  are  very  beautiful,  and 
the  odours  of  pine  and  sweet  bay  are  enrapturing. 

My  house  is  close  on  the  Battery,  so  I  see  the 
sparkling  water  through  trees  and  a  sort  of  park, 
and  the  sun  shines  in,  and  there's  a  pretty  garden 
with  all  the  things  we  (you)  have  in  Algiers  and 
Riviera,  that  is  laurustinas,  violet  beds,  ivy,  roses, 
just  coming  along.  I  don't  see  any  mimosa,  which 
I  do  hope  you  are  enjoying  somewhere  this  instant 
minute,  with  its  floods  of  yellow  sunshine.  Anyhow 
I  am  thoroughly  enjoying  it,  and  when  I  get  tired 


332    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

and  "  lontsome "  I  shall  just  git  up  and  git,  back  to 
excellent  old  Boston,  where  they  had  a  blizzard  the 
other  day,  and  killed  all  the  horses  with  live  wires, 
and  I'm  told  Providence  is  still  three  feet  deep  in 
snow.  But  now  let  me  search  my  past  career  and 
pick  some  crumbs  of  incident  to  enliven  you.  .  .  . 

Meanwhile,  my  nice  young  folks  were  good  to  me 
in  Boston.  We  had  a  little  dinner  at  Thorndike, 
and  then  went  to  "Keith's."  It  used  to  be  the 
"Bijou,"  I  believe;  there  is  an  entrance  on  Tremont 
Street,  very  gaudy,  and  going  in  that  way  you  de- 
scend into  the  bowels  of  the  earth  and  walk  along 
a  great  looking-glass  passage  where,  like  that  Algiers 
restaurant,  yourself  is  going  along  on  its  head  on  top 
of  you,  all  bedecked  with  gold  and  glitters,  finally 
coming  out  into  the  theatre.  Then  after  the  per- 
formance we  went  to  the  new  Touraine  which  has 
a  "  kneipe  "  underground,  where  the  men  smoke,  and 
a  German  band  plays,  while  we  eat  broiled  live  lob- 
ster and  drink  beer  in  stone,  with  German  carvings 
and  mottoes  all  round,  and  the  electric  lights  coming 
out  of  the  stags'  horns.  And  when  we  emerged  it 
was  through  a  tunnel  and  up  a  "lift,"  which  landed 
us  in  the  front  entry,  on  Boylston  Street,  of  the 
Touraine.  In  fact,  all  Boston  is  getting  to  be  one 
great  subway;  and  you  can  go  from  Thorndike  to 
the  Music  Hall  without  wetting  your  feet,  where,  by 
the  way,  I  saw  some  stereopticon  views  of  Corsica, 
very  beautiful,  slightly  tinted,  which  made  me  long 
to  be  there  again.  Can't  you  manage  to  get  over 
there  from  Nice?  It's  not  very  bad  crossing,  only 
twelve  hours. 

I  bade  good-bye  to  Katharine  Bowditch,  who  is 
off  with  all  her  family  and  outriders  to  Italy  for  the 
summer,  perhaps  they  will  get  to  Sicily.  And  I  met 
great,  big,  faithful  Sam  Johnson,  who  jumped  into 
a  car,  but  as  I  was  jumping  out  directly  after, 


BOSTON,   NEW  YOKK,   CALIFORNIA     333 

amazement  sate  on  him  and  he  sate  on  a  woman  who 
was  there,  and  no  explanations  could  be  given  or  re- 
quired. I  saw  a  great  quantity  of  Hales  and  Burs- 
leys,  and  my  Katy,  and  sich  like.  Oh,  the  Union 
Club,  you  know,  has  a  department  for  ladies,  to  wit 
the  old  Mayflower  rooms  in  the  Quincy  House.  It 
is  beautifully  done  over  by  the  Union  Club,  and  much 
more  charming  for  a  meal  than  our  Mayflower.  I 
lunched  there  several  times.  They  have  a  chef  and 
good  food.  The  Thorndike  also  has  a  chef  from 
Delmonico's,  and  all  the  chops  have  little  tufts  on 
top  of  them,  and  layers  of  peppers  beneath.  You 
would  n't  know  a  lamb  if  you  met  him,  so  disguised, 
but  the  result  is  good.  Old  Miss  C.  D.  is  there,  more 
like  Queen  Victoria  than  ever,  but  it's  rather  safer 
not  to  let  her  see  you,  for  she  holds  faster  than  the 
flea. 

Now  from  all  this  anguish  and  these  delights  I 
came  away  to  my  Goddards  in  New  York.  New 
York  was  reeking  with  pictures.  All  the  Fortunys 
at  the  Stewart  sale.  I  spent  hours  there  twice.  You 
must  have  seen  (N.  Y.  Herald}  some  account  of  the 
auction.  That  little  "  Choice  of  the  Model "  is  an 
enchanting  picture.  Now  you  must  know  that  Ma- 
drazo,  Boldini,  Gandara  are  all  three  of  them  in  New 
York  in  the  flesh  (very  much  in  the  flesh),  getting 
$6,000  apiece  for  fashionable  portraits,  and  thus 
picking  the  bones  of  all  American  painters.  It  must 
have  been  fun  for  Madrazo  (he  was  at  the  auction) 
to  hear  his  "  Guitar  Girl "  run  up  to  $16,500.  Their 
portraits  are  on  exhibition  at  different  galleries.  I 
saw  them  all.  At  Gandara's,  there  stood  George 
Haynes  as  large  as  life,  painted  in  hat  and  frockcoat, 
gloves  and  cane.  He  looked  very  beautiful,  and  it 
must  make  him  sleep  finely  o'  nights,  to  be  seen  thus 
attired  on  5th  Avenue.  And,  oh !  I  rode  in  a  horse- 
less carriage  —  it's  a  dream  of  locomotion.  I  had 


334    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

a  lovely  dinner  at  Fanny  Mali's,  —  sate  between 
W.  R.  Ware  and  Judge  Rowland,  both  most  agree- 
able, and  most  fond  of  me.  W.  R.  is  all  turned  grey, 
and  looks  like  Dr.  Lothrop !  Saw  Susan  Day ;  she 
is  full  of  dissipations,  asked  me  to  her  box  at  Wal- 
dorf Astoria  concert,  and  to  dine  at  Delmonico's.  I 
lunched  at  Delmonico's  with  Susan  Travers.  I  saw 
a  lot  of  Nora  Godwin,  lunches,  teas,  German  theatre, 
and  her  most  entertaining  old  Pa.  Only  ten  days  in 
N".  Y.,  and  all  these  things,  aye  more,  befell  me,  until 
at  last  the  flesh  gave  a  yell,  and  I  wrote  Arthur  to 
take  me  away.  Now  that 's  enough  for  onct. 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  MRS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

39  HIGHLAND  STREET,  ROXBTJRY, 

March  W,  1898. 

.  .  .  Charleston  is  a  dear,  sleepy,  picturesque  old 
town,  and  the  whole  experience  was  most  amusing, 
but  I  don't  feel  like  telling  you  about  that  any  more, 
so  I  hasten  to  my  return,  and  stopping  in  Washing- 
ton for  three 

Glorious  Days 

because  I  was  just  in  the  thick  of  the  war  excitement. 
Papa  Edward  E.  was  in  town,  and  a  great  man,  and 
I  was  with  him  in  the  Senate  Gallery,  when  the 
$5000000000000000000000000000000000  was  ap- 
propriated. It  was  dignified  and  fine,  and  I  was 
proud  of  my  country,  and  you  know  we  are  tremen- 
dously patriotic  now,  and  the  lion  and  the  lamb  lying 
down  together  paying  for  warships,  and  Lord  knows 
what  may  come  of  it,  and  the  Senate  adjourned  im- 
mediately after,  in  order  that  the  pick  of  the  Senators 
might  come  to  luncheon  with  Senator  Hoar  in  his 
Judiciary  Committee  Room  to  meet  Edward  E.  and 


BOSTON,   NEW  YORK,   CALIFORNIA    335 

Miss  Susan  Hale.  These  men  were  just  like  pleased 
schoolboys,  or  Harvard  men,  after  the  ball  game  has 
gone  right  for  us.  The  air  was  all  full  of  enthusiasm 
and  even  gaiety.  Vice-President  Hobart  was  there 
(the  President  of  the  Senate,  and  a  fine  man) ,  Allison, 
Wolcott,  Chandler,  Cabot  Lodge,  about  ten  of  'em,  and 
Governor  Hawley  of  Connecticut,  and  Dyer  of  Rhode 
Island,  the  latter  in  Washington  to  get  them  to  for- 
tify Canonicut  for  the  defence  of  our  coast.  Stirring 
times !  Well,  after  lunch,  which  was  brief,  only  ter- 
rapin and  the  like,  for  these  schoolboys  had  to  run 
back  to  their  tasks,  Young,  the  librarian,  took  us. 
Pa  and  me,  all  over  the  new  Congressional  Library, 
which  is  a  superb  building,  and  as  he  is  an  enthusiast, 
and  Pa,  a  scholar,  he  hawked  us  all  over  everything, 
up-stairs  and  down-stairs,  through  halls  full  of  fres- 
coes, and  crypts  full  of  old  pamphlets,  and  rotundas 
with  people  reading,  and  little  carriages  for  books, 
on  wheels,  shooting  up  and  down  chimneys,  from 
garret  to  cellar,  and  round  and  round  circular  stair- 
cases, breaking  our  legs,  and  breaking  our  necks  look- 
ing at  ceilings,  and  looking  out  of  lofty  windows  over 
all  Washington,  till  we  were  well  nigh  dead.  Then 
there  was  a  great  reception  for  Papa,  where  I  saw  an 
immense  amount  of  people  known  or  unknown  (for  I 
was  in  the  newspapers  by  this  time),  and  then  I  came 
away  in  a  blaze  of  glory.  .  .  . 

Will  Everett  is  giving  delicious  Lowell  lectures  on 
certain  poets.  I  only  came  in  time  for  "Byron"; 
oh !  so  admirable,  with  charming  extracts.  He 
spouted  "  The  Assyrian  came  down,"  with  his  true 
old  fire,  too  ranting,  perhaps,  but  full  of  expression. 
The  audiences  are  jammed.  .  .  .  Write. 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 


336    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

To  Miss  LTJCRETIA  P.  HALE 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  April  W,  1898. 

DEAR  LUC.,  —  Having  a  splendid  time  condensing 
"Sir  Charles  Grandison"  to  thirty  pages,  for  my 
book.  It  is  lovely  to-day,  but  pretty  cold  with  sharp 
wind,  so  that  it's  only  55°  in  the  sunny  porch.  I 
pile  on  the  logs,  and  scratch  away.  We  have  break- 
fast now  at  six-thirty ! !  So  I  get  to  "  my  pen  "  be- 
fore seven,  and  have  done  twelve  pages  since.  I  hated 
to  have  Lucy  go,  and  Mister  Browning  "  was  in  hopes 
she  'd  stay  threw  the  summer."  Saturday  and  Sun- 
day were  lovely  days,  and  Sunday  p.  M.  we  were  bask- 
ing in  the  porch,  warm  as  summer,  when  Mr.  Turner 
arrived  and  stayed  to  tea,  very  gallant. 

Last  evening  the  sunset  was  of  the  finest.  I  was 
up  at  my  rock.  The  west  all  golden  with  golden 
clouds,  and  over  the  salt  ponds,  a  superb  parade  of 
torn  clouds  in  lavender  and  rose  tints.  I  keep  for- 
getting to  tell  you  how  the  sun  (when  there  is  any), 
like  this  morning,  pours  into  my  Fullum's  about 
five  o'clock. 

Always  yours, 

SUSIE. 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  June  %2,  1898. 
DEAR  LUCRETIA,  —  ...  Yesterday  was  quite  mul- 
tifarious, so  I  will  give  you  the  account  of  it.  It 
began  peacefully,  and  when  Phil,  and  Sully  were  safe 
at  work,  and  the  house  calm,  I  slipped  off  to  walk 
up  to  my  farm.  It  was  lovely,  the  red  roses  growing 
just  like  blackberry  bushes  all  over  the  place,  and 
I  got  an  immense  handful.  Came  down  through 
Miss  Abby  Tucker's  place  deserted,  as  she  was  to 
Wakefield  selling  eggs,  and  came  across  to  Hannah's 


BOSTON,  NEW  YOKK,   CALIFORNIA    337 

cart-track  to  come  over  between  the  ponds.  It  had 
rained  in  the  night,  and  squeezing  through  the  drip- 
ping woods,  I  had  got  so  wet  that  when  I  came  to 
the  crossing  between  the  ponds,  I  didn't  hesitate  to 
turn  up  all  my  petticoats  in  a  sort  of  pouch  to  hold 
my  flowers,  leaving  the  other  hand  free  to  clutch 
branches,  and  thus  proceeded,  in  my  shoes  and  stock- 
ings, to  wade  across  the  flood,  which  was  well  above 
my  garters,  for  the  ponds  are  both  so  full  now,  the 
water  is  smooth  across  and  quite  deep.  As  I  was 
halfway  over  I  perceived  hard  by  a  man  in  a  boat  fish- 
ing. "Hallo,  Jerry!  I'd  have  asked  you  to  put 
me  across,  if  I  'd  seen  you ! "  He  discreetly  averted 
his  eyes,  and  kept  his  back  towards  me,  saying :  "  I  '11 
row  you  down  home  if  you  want."  "  Oh,  no,"  said 
I,  "  I  'm  so  wet  now  I  may  as  well  go  on,"  and  so  I 
did.  It's  tremendously  grown  up  on  this  side,  and 
I  got  still  wetter  from  the  wet  bushes,  so  I  was  a 
fine  sight  as  I  came  up  the  back  stairs  at  twelve-thirty. 
I  had  just  time  to  cast  my  skin  and  get  ready  for 
dinner,  when  from  the  head  of  front  stairs,  I  per- 
ceived an  arrival,  an  unknown  young  man,  getting 
out  with  his  shirt-case  and  artist-weapons,  —  viz., 
Howard  Gushing,  whom  Phil,  and  I  had  vaguely 
asked  over  from  Newport  to  sketch.  He  is  a  dear 
fellow,  very  handsome,  twenty-five  years  of  age,  son 
of  Robert,  and  remembers  acting  with  me  in  the 
"  Rose  and  the  Ring,"  seventeen  years  ago,  when  he 
was  a  little  boy.  We  love  to  have  him  here,  and  he 
is  out  now  with  Phil,  and  Sully  sketching,  which 
he  came  for,  having  studied  in  Paris,  and  already  an 
artist  of  some  repute.  Luckily  (as  always)  an  ex- 
cellent dinner  soon  steamed  on  the  table,  —  roast  beef, 
salad,  cream-pie.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
STJSE. 


338         LETTEKS    OF   SUSAN"   HALE 

To  Miss  LUCEETIA  P.  HALE 

MATUNUCK,  EHODE  ISLAND,  June  27,  1898. 

DEAR  LUCRETiA, —  ...  It  seems  really  a  pity  to 
have  so  few  folks  here,  for  the  weather  is  perfect,  the 
household  running  like  clock-work,  Nora,  the  cook, 
delightful,  with  lots  of  puddings  in  her  eye;  and 
splendid  things  to  eat,  —  broiling  chickens,  fresh 
lamb,  strawberries  in  profusion,  thick  cream,  and 
lobsters  yesterday  for  the  first  time.  .  .  . 

I  must  tell  you  of  our  little  chippy  sparrows  that 
had  their  nest  in  the  trellis  by  the  front  door.  Their 
young,  happily,  are  abroad  now,  but  Ma  and  Pa 
Sparrow  hang  round  as  tame  as  tame,  coming  regu- 
larly to  afternoon-tea  for  crumbs  of  cookie.  Yester- 
day at  the  moment  Mary  set  the  table  down  on  the 
piazza,,  the  two  alighted  hard  by,  with  a  jounce,  quite 
unalarmed;  they  open  their  little  throats  and  sing, 
as  if  to  join  in  the  usual  p.  M.  tea-talk.  We  think 
cookie  must  be  very  unwholesome  for  them,  a  very 
singular  form  of  worm,  but  it's  astonishing  how 
much  they  tuck  away  in  their  small  crops.  Our 
robins  cover  the  lawn,  and  to-day  the  bobwhites  are 
singing  there.  Behind  the  dog-house  there  is  a  war- 
ren of  somebody,  we  might  call  them  the  "  Somebody 
Warrens,"  four  small  animals  with  bushy  tails  and 
a  mother,  that  nobody  knows.  When  I  describe  them 
as  woodchucks,  everybody  says,  "  Oh,  no,  they  can't 
be  woodchucks " ;  if  I  take  to  calling  them  squirrels 
they  say,  "  Of  course,  they  ain't  squirrels."  I  suggest 
muskrats,  —  "  Oh,  muskrats  have  flat  tails."  As  no- 
body has  seen  them  but  Nelly  Ryan  and  me,  we  feel 
we  ought  to  know  how  they  look,  but  we  are  told  it 's 
impossible  they  should  have  bushy  tails  and  not  be 
squirrels.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 


BOSTON,   NEW  YORK,   CALIFORNIA     339 

To  Miss  LUCBETIA  P.  HALE 
MATUNUCK,  EHODE  ISLAND,  June  30,  1898. 
DEAR  LUCBETIA, —  .  .  .  Well,  but  I  want  to  tell 
you  of  my  expedition  yesterday,  a  great  one  for  me. 
You  must  know  Brownings  are  carrying  the  wash 
this  year  (such  a  comfort,  no  wrangling,  and  only 
75  cents  a  week).  I  was  sitting  on  my  hill-top,  sur- 
veying the  scene,  about  six,  when  their  team  emerged 
from  their  house  below  on  the  drift-way.  A  sudden 
idea  took  me  down  to  the  back  door,  where  I  invited 
myself  to  get  into  the  wagon.  "  It 's  an  honour,  Miss 
Sewsan,"  said  Mr.  B.,  "  and  I  consider  it  sech,  for 
I  consider  you  to  be  the  fust  lady  in  the  state.  You 
be  that  for  eddication,  at  any  rate."  We  were  now 
on  the  steepest  part  of  the  hill.  I  murmured,  "I 
guess  you  rather  overrate  me."  "  Haow  ? "  said  he. 
"I  GUESS  You  EATHEB  OVEBBATE  ME,"  I  yelled. 
"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  he  persisted,  "  the  languages 
you  are  acquainted  with,  and  the  numbers  of  them  is 
proved  by  the  different  nations  you  have  visited."  I 
changed  the  subject  to  the  condition  of  Mrs.  Thomas 
J.  (who  is  in  articulo  mortis),  and  we  occupied  the 
time  to  Elisha's  with  the  treatment  of  laying  out  the 
dead.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSE. 

To  MBS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND, 

October  81,  1898. 

DEABEST  CABOLINE,  —  I  long  to  communicate  with 
you,  yet  dally  with  the  thought,  for  (like  you)  I 
loathe  the  pen  in  these  days.  My  mind  has  invented 
a  rake  with  separate  pens  for  the  teeth,  wherewith 
we  could  scrape  the  soil  of  correspondence,  and,  with 


340         LETTEES   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

but  one  set  of  ideas,  start  a  whole  field  of  letters. 
Cadmus  would  be  nowhere  in  comparison. 

Where  are  you  ?  How  long  do  you  stay,  what  are 
you  going  to  do  next?  I  put  these  questions  and 
will,  meanwhile,  answer  them  with  regard  to  myself. 
I  am  here.  I  mean  to  stay  till  the  bottom  of  the 
thermometer  comes  out.  .  .  . 

To  revert  to  the  living  Susan,  I  came  back  Friday 
night  and  settled  down  to  peace,  "  George  Meredith," 
a  French  novel,  some  salutary  sewing  and  an  excel- 
lent cat.  Whereupon,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  took  to  my 
bed  this  Monday  (as  you  have  seen  me  arrive  at 
your  house),  the  result  of  fatigue  and  worry.  I  had 
a  glorious  little  attack,  all  to  myself,  with  excellent 
Loisy  to  tend  me,  and  let  me  alone,  and  at  the  proper 
time  to  make  me  a  chicken-broth  that  was  a  dream 
of  succulence ;  I  am  all  right  now,  and  feel  the  springs 
of  youth  and  gaiety  bubbling  up  round  my  aged  roots 
again.  But  I  want  to  stay  here,  in  order  to  have 
myself  to  myself  for  a  change,  as  it  has  not  been 
possible  all  summer  long,  and  I  think  the  first  half 
of  November  will  be  beautiful,  don't  you  ?  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  Miss  ELLEN  H.  WEEDEN 
(Mus.  NATHANIEL  W.  SMITH) 

SAN  YSIDKO,  CALIFORNIA,  February  26, 1899. 
DEAR  MY  POLLY, —  .  .  .  Here  it  is  just  about 
perfect.  I  wish  you  were  here,  my  dear ;  I  think  we 
must  take  a  trip  together  sometime.  It  was,  to  tell 
the  truth,  quite  fearful  cold  for  two  or  three  days, 
but  then  the  weather  turned  warm,  too  hot  for  grum- 
blers. I  am  sitting  in  my  great  big  open  window 
now,  with  my  hair  down  my  back,  before  dressing 
for  breakfast.  Chinese  brings  me  a  little  pot  of 
coffee  at  seven  (when  I  come  back  from  my  luscious 


BOSTON",   NEW  YOKE,   CALIFORNIA     341 

cold  bath,  in  a  house  where  such  things  are  situated), 
just  one  hundred  steps  from  my  room.  (There!  a 
sweet  donkey  brayed  just  now  on  the  next  ranch,  in 
a  most  loving  pathetic  manner.)  And  then  I  write 
my  letters  till  the  jangle  wrangle  rings  for  getting 
up,  when  I  ought  to  proceed  to  put  on  my  shirt- 
waist and  thin  undergarments.  My  room  is  called 
the  "Buglight,"  because  it  is  a  little  house  all  by 
itself  set  up  on  four  legs  over  a  sort  of  piazza,  where 
we  sit  to  read  and  sew.  See  those 
outside  steps  that  climb  up  to  it? 
The  ranch  house,  with  four  rooms 
only  one  storey,  is  close  at  hand  just 
below  where  the  companions  live. 
Mrs.  Day,  Susan,  and  her  maid 
were  there  when  we  were  here  to- 
gether, but  they  did  n't  let  me  have  the  "  Bug  "  then. 
It  is  rather  cold,  as  there  is  no  stove  or  anything,  in 
fact,  it  is  about  like  the  dog-house  in  matter  of  struc- 
ture. But  the  sun  rises  about  the  time  I  do  and 
comes  shining  in  with  great  might,  and  my  window 
and  little  balcony  overlook  the  garden  all  full  of 
oranges,  mandarins,  grape-fruit  (ripe,  you  know), 
guava  bushes,  besides  all  manner  of  flowers  in  blos- 
som. Lots  of  little  birds  skipping  round  in  the  live- 
oak  and  cypress  trees,  and  above  all  a  sweet  little 
cat  I  've  named  "  Cuddly-cuddly  "  infests  us ;  full  of 
purr  and  lap-sitting,  though  also  wild  and  frolicsome. 
She  troubles  Mrs.  Weld  by  catching  birds  and  eating 
them  before  our  eyes,  and  I  told  Mrs.  Weld  I  heard 
Cuddly  saying  her  prayers,  and  she  said,  "Give  us 
each  day  our  daily  bird."  Ain't  she  naughty  ? 

This  place  is  about  six  miles  out  of  the  world, 
there  are  but  a  few  people  here,  and  we  just  dawdle 
all  the  time,  doing  nothing  beyond  writing,  playing 
cards,  reading  aloud,  sewing  a  little  —  to  mend  our 
clothes  —  and  strolling  round.  The  mountains  are 


342    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

beautiful  behind  the  ranch,  and  in  front  is  the 
Pacific,  just  about  as  far  as  the  Atlantic  from  us  at 
Matunuck,  only  we  are  higher  up  among  the  hills 
here.  We  drive  when  we  choose,  or  are  driven  in  a 
great  surrey  with  two  horses;  but  it's  just  discovered 
that  I  am  allowed  to  drive  "Jack"  in  a  little  light 
wagon.  This  is  great  fun.  He  goes  splendidly,  but 
is  very  gentle  all  the  same.  Yesterday,  Daisy  Rand 
(twenty-three),  who  is  with  us,  had  to  go  to  Santa 
Barbara  to  luncheon  with  some  friends.  It's  about 
like  going  to  the  Pier,  but  the  roads  are  lovely,  wind- 
ing through  woods  and  along  by  the  sea.  So  I  drove 
her  into  town  with  Jack.  We  did  a  lot  of  shopping 
in  the  funny  little  town.  I  wanted  a  piece  of  pink 
ribbon.  I  wish  you  could  see  their  collection,  in  one 
of  the  best  shops,  —  about  twenty  rolls,  that  was  all, 
in  a  glass  case.  O.  Kenyon  would  blush  at  such  a 
small  show.  I  left  Daisy,  and  then  drove  off  to  see 
some  friends  of  ours,  the  Olivers,  who  live  in  Mission 
Canon,  and  invited  myself  to  lunch.  It  was  dinner 
(one  o'clock),  all  the  better,  and  I  had  a  lovely  time. 
They  live,  by  the  way,  just  beyond  the  Hazards' 
place,  which  is  all  closed  and  lonely,  its  beautiful 
garden  wasted.  It  seems  quite  forlorn.  The  Olivers' 
servants  are  all  Spanish,  so  Cachucha,  or  whatever 
his  name  is,  took  "  mi  cavallo,"  and  put  him  up  till 
we  ordered  him  brought  round  later.  Then  I  rushed 
back  to  town,  picked  up  Miss  Rand,  and  we  drove 
home  in  great  spirits,  in  time  for  our  dinner, 
6 :  30  P.  M.  .  .  . 

YOUE  SUSAN. 


BOSTON,   NEW  YOKK,   CALIFORNIA    343 

To  Miss  LUCRETIA  P.  HALE 

HOTEL  DEL  MONTE,  MONTEREY, 
April  %%,  1899. 

DEAR  LUCRETIA,  —  We  have  changed  our  base,  you 
see,  and  arrived  here  yesterday  afternoon,  pretty 
tired,  after  a  delightful  but  rather  fatiguing  trip. 
I  must  tell  you  about  it  at  length,  and  you  can  cir- 
culate the  tale  amongst  the  various  constituents.  You 
must  know,  and  Nelly  will  agree,  that  there  is  one 
hideous  way  of  getting  from  southern  California  up 
north,  and  one  beautiful  way,  which  is  rather  diffi- 
cult to  engineer,  partly  on  account  of  everybody 
thinking  it's  best  to  go  the  bad  way.  .  .  . 

I  thought  we  had  better  go  the  good  way,  and  so, 
I  got  our  tickets  changed  and  everything  fixed.  We 
got  started  on  Tuesday  in  fine  shape.  The  day  was 
perfect.  There  had  been  fogs,  so  everybody  kept 
saying,  "  What  shall  you  do  if  it  rains !  "  It  won't 
rain,  you  know,  till  next  November,  so  that  seemed 
futile.  Our  trunks  had  gone  to  town  the  night  be- 
fore ;  and  about  eleven  we  climbed  into  a  nice  surrey, 
from  the  stage-office,  Santa  Barbara,  with  our  small 
effects  (my  Angel  and  Carry's  hold-all)  a  splendid 
luncheon  in  a  tin  box,  and  quantities  of  wraps.  We 
had  a  Mexican  driver,  named  Olivas,  who  proved  in 
the  long  run  rather  tedious,  but  he  was  excellent  with 
the  horses,  and  very  careful  about  hot-boxes  and 
watering.  All  the  inmates  of  the  ranch  were  there 
under  the  great  pepper  tree  to  say  good-bye;  the 
Bushnells  and  Clarkes  and  Munros  and  Sam.  Cabot 
and  Mrs.  Sam.,  and  sundry  minor  lights,  and  most 
of  all,  Mrs.  Hawes,  whom  we  have  become  very  fond 
of,  and  she  of  us,  so  it  was  quite  anguish  to  part 
from  her,  and  Mr.  Hawes,  the  same,  and  Rudolpho 
and  Joachim,  and  the  Chinese,  and  Cuddly,  the  cat 
(who  was  at  my  door  at  five  in  the  morning),  and 


344    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

(I  forgot  to  mention)  Mrs.  Greene  and  Mrs.  Thacher 
and  Miss  Haven,  who  are  coming  on  here  next  week. 
So  we  drove  away  triumphant,  through  the  pretty 
garden  reeking  with  roses,  but  sad  at  heart,  thinking 
very  likely  we  may  never  be  there  again,  paid  for 
our  journey  at  the  stage-office,  and  then  went  off 
towards  Arro  Hondo.  After  ten  miles  or  more  of 
plain  road  (passing  the  house  where  we  used  to  see 
the  Birge  Harrisons),  we  came  down  to  the  sea,  and 
the  rest  of  the  day  was  beautiful,  along  the  shore, 
chiefly  on  a  cliff  looking  down  at  headlands  with 
surf  breaking,  then  turning  in  and  out  to  round  gul- 
lies where  brooks  flowed  down  to  the  sea,  on  our  right 
the  hills,  dotted  with  white  oaks  or  glorious  fields 
of  yellow  mustard,  like  exaggerated  sunshine.  We 
ate  our  luncheon  under  a  great  live-oak  at  Tecalote, 
and  all  the  P.M.  drove  and  drove,  reaching  Arro 
Hondo  about  sunset.  Arro  or  Arroyo  Hondo  means 
the  deep  ravine,  —  and  there  tucked  away  between 
steep  hills  was  a  ranch  on  the  creek,  approached  by 
a  narrow  bridge,  just  one  Mexican  adobe  house,  where 
we  spent  the  night,  in  two  rooms  on  the  lower  (and 
only)  floor,  our  doors  opening  on  the  piazza,  the 
plunging  sea  in  our  ears,  great  eucalyptus  trees 
reaching  up  out  of  the  shadow  of  the  hills,  and  the 
moonlight  trickling  through  their  branches.  Noth- 
ing could  come  there  except  by  the  stage  road,  and 
nothing  would  come  there,  after  us,  till  the  next 
noon.  Very  worthy  people  (Yankees)  gave  us  an 
excellent  supper  and  breakfast,  and  Thursday,  the 
next  morning,  we  were  off  betimes  (eight  o'clock) 
with  Olivas,  and  drove  and  drove  all  day  long.  We 
left  the  sea  about  10  A.  M.  and  turned  into  a  beauti- 
ful narrow  pass  through  deep  woods,  and  the  rest 
of  the  way  was  up  and  down  along  a  creek  amongst 
lovely  wooded  mountains  and  fields  for  grazing,  im- 
mense ranches  without  fences,  all  midsummer  green 


BOSTON,  NEW  YORK,   CALIFORNIA    345 

now,  and  the  day  really  very  hot!  and  oh,  my!  the 
flowers !  Mariposa  lilies,  painter's-brush,  poppies,  and 
dozens  of  others  in  patches,  now  blue,  now  yellow, 
now  crimson.  It  is  just  the  heyday  of  it  this  month. 
I  have  never  seen  such  profusion  even  here  before. 
Lunch  under  a  great  willow  tree,  in  a  barley  field, 
which  the  horses  gobbled  joyfully.  At  five  we  reached 
Lompoc,  a  ridiculous,  hideous,  American  town,  all  at 
right  angles,  —  put  up  at  "  Hotel  Arthur,"  requested 
our  supper  then,  or  at  least,  some  coffee  and  bread 
and  butter.  G.  Proprietor  said  supper  hour  was  five- 
thirty  and  "he  didn't  think  he  could  get  the  cook 
to  get  it  any  earlier."  However,  an  agreeable  boy, 
who  helped  G.  P.  to  run  things,  persuaded  the  cook, 
and  brought  us  coffee  in  our  room,  where  we  were 
shaking  ourselves  out  of  the  dust,  —  and  at  six  we 
were  on  the  road  again,  an  ugly  straight  one  for 
"  Surf."  This  is  a  new  place,  only  a  hideous  R.  R. 
terminus.  The  train  came  along  and  we  got  into  our 
sleeper  stateroom,  and  spent  the  night  in  it,  though 
the  train  did  n't  start  till  five  the  next  morning !  We 
had  it  all  to  ourselves,  except  three  ladies,  who  ar- 
rived after  we  did  by  stage  from  Santa  B.  Was  n't 
that  funny!  We  felt  like  dogs  next  morning,  when 
the  train  started  under  us, — but  porter  gave  us  a 
very  good  "  Buffet "  breakfast,  and  we  reached  Cas- 
troville  at  noon,  where  we  lunched  at  the  station,  then 
came  on  a  small  branch  to  the  gates  of  this  hotel.  I 
will  give  our  experiences  here  in  my  next.  Lots  of 
love  from 

SUSIE. 


346    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

To  MRS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

HOTEL  ATHEN^UM,   CHAUTAUQUA,  Monday 

morning,  August  ll^,  1899. 

(After  breakfast.} 

Oh,  my  dear  creature,  you  can't  think  how  I  miss 
you  now  I  am  on  the  war-path  again.  It's  quite 
terrible !  I  have  things  to  refer  to  you  at  every  turn. 
We  came  here  on  "the  Flyer"  (Empire  State  train) 
from  New  York  Saturday,  tore  over  the  same  coun- 
try we  came  through  six  weeks  ago.  By  the  way,  the 
orange  asclepias  is  still  in  blossom  near  Rochester. 
It  was  fearfully  hot ;  the  Pullman  car  was  crowded. 
Two  imps  of  children,  a  married  couple  playing  crib- 
bage,  and  lots  of  fat  gentlemen.  These  mostly  got 
out  at  Utica,  the  cribbage  pair  kept  on  pegging  all 
day,  he  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  so  was  she,  for  that 
matter.  They  had  a  most  vulgar,  modern  cribbage 
board  made  of  tin  or  something  similar,  with  great 
pins,  like  those  we  use  in  dressing  ourselves,  except 
fatter,  a  great  many  of  these  pins,  and  I  may  say 
they  seemed  not  to  get  lost.  They  played  like  light- 
ning, and  he  constantly  got  the  better  of  her,  which 
was  the  only  thing  about  him  that  reminded  me  of  you. 

We  reached  Buffalo  at  four-thirty  P.  M.  (only  eight 
hours  from  New  York),  and  then  had  to  go  the  rest 
of  the  way,  two  hours,  in  a  nasty  little  side  train  down 
to  Mayville,  jammed  into  a  blazing  hot  common  car, 
with  about  a  million  female  people,  all  in  shirt- 
waists, who  got  out  at  suburban  homes  every  two 
minutes,  with  masses  of  bundles  and  bags.  I  had 
to  sit  crowded  up  with  two  shawl-straps,  my  cape, 
my  umbrella,  Pa's  waterproof  and  a  woman,  and  Pa 
was  the  same  in  the  seat  in  front  with  his  bag  and 
cane,  only  he  was  sitting  on  his  best  and  only  hat; 
besides  this,  a  red-bound  book  of  small  stories  and  the 
Cosmopolitan  came  out  of  the  pocket  of  his  water- 


BOSTON,   NEW  YOKE,   CALIFORNIA     347 

proof  and  fell  all  over  me.  Thus  we  passed  aeons, 
stopping  at  station  after  station,  with  more  shirt- 
waists piling  in  upon  us.  We  saw  the  sun  set  in  a 
great  lake  there  was,  and  I  fully  expected  to  see  it 
rise  again,  but  before  then  we  came  to  the  part  of  it 
on  which  we  embarked  in  a  small  bath-tub  called  the 
City  of  Rochester,  about  as  big  as  one-eighth  of  a 
Nahant  boat;  all  the  shirt-waists  got  on  with  their 
bicycles,  which  were  heaped  up  in  the  waist  of  the 
ship,  and  we  were  all  jammed  into  the  stern  under 
an  awning.  The  thing  snorted  and  started,  and 
bustled  out  into  mid-ocean,  then  stopped  and  began 
to  wobble  and  snort  more,  apparently  shrieking  for 
help.  I  was  quite  sure  we  should  go  to  the  bottom. 
It  was  now  pitch  dark;  only  a  crescent  moon  was 
making  a  path  over  the  water,  and  lights  sparkling 
afar  off,  and  I  was  wondering  whether  I  could  swim 
there  in  my  boots  and  carrying  my  umbrella  and  the 
Cosmopolitan,  when  lo !  the  boat  snorted  and  started 
again,  and  it  appeared  our  place  was  right  there  at  the 
back  where  I  could  n't  have  seen  it.  We  landed  on  a 
crowded  wharf,  and  by  reason  of  passes  went  through 
a  gate,  while  the  shirt-waists  remained  howling 
without  until  they  had  paid  the  uttermost  farthing. 

My  dear,  this  is  a  most  wonderful  place,  there  are 
ten  thousand  people,  truly  that  number,  here  this 
minute,  and  I  saw  them  all  at  the  Auditorium  yester- 
day, at  church,  really  an  imposing  scene,  a  great 
bowl  of  a  place  with  sloping  ranks  of  seats  to  contain 
these  people,  open  to  the  air  above,  all  woods  and 
great  trees,  so  it  was  n't  hot.  A  fine  organ,  a  trained 
choir  of  one  hundred  voices  or  more,  instruments 
besides,  a  good  leader  and  the  audience  all  also  sing- 
ing, "  Holy,  Holy,  Holy,"  like  mad.  Pa  sate  up  on 
the  platform,  being  a  "counsellor,"  and,  amongst 
other  things,  by  and  by  he  was  announced  by  name 
to  the  audience  to  read  a  portion  of  Scripture.  A 


348    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

little  lady  next  me  in  a  good  blue  foulard  whispered 
to  me,  "  Is  he  any  relation  to  the  man  that  writes  the 
books  ? "  Said  I,  "  It 's  the  same."  Said  she,  "  Did 
you  know  he  was  a  minister  ? "  Said  I,  "  Hush,  — 
I'm  his  sister."  (Because  she  had  no  business  to  be 
talking  during  prayer  or  something.)  She  was  cov- 
ered with  confusion,  and  afterwards  pressed  my  hand 
and  said  it  was  an  honour. 

We  are  ourselves  staying  at  a  great  howling,  bel- 
lowing hotel,  built  much  on  the  plan  of  that  at  the 
Grand  Canyon,  in  fact  the  carpets  are  the  same,  but 
there  are  swarms  of  cottages  where  the  shirt-waists 
are  poked.  You  know  they  are  all  here  improving 
their  minds,  learning  some  darn  thing  or  other,  and 
hearing  lectures  and  being  very  devout  especially 
Sundays.  This  week  is  the  Grand  Commencement 
Graduation  Feast  of  the  season.  We  are  fairly  com- 
fortable, and  sit  at  a  small  table  with  the  great  guns 
of  the  institution,  such  as  Dr.  Hurlbut,  Bishop  Vin- 
cent, and  the  like.  I  am  a  small  lion  myself,  but 
seldom  growl  in  the  presence  of  Rev.  E.  E.  H.,  of 
course.  It  is  a  philanthropic  enterprise,  and  no 
doubt  gives  a  pot  of  culture  and  all  that,  but  do  you 
know,  even  the  gate-money  brings  in  thousands  of 
dollars,  and  they  must  make  money  hand  over  hand, 
so  they  can  afford  to  do  things  in  style.  The  scene 
is  a  beautiful  great  grove  with  great  trees,  and  the 
lake,  and  fine  buildings,  stone  walks,  a  Doric  temple, 
lighted  with  flaming  torches,  shirt-waists  wandering 
'mid  the  electric  lights  and  talking  about  geology  and 
the  next  world,  to  each  other,  no  men  to  speak  of,  and 
"  meetings  "  every  five  minutes  to  "  hear  "  something. 
It  is  all,  in  fact,  extremely  interesting,  but  Lord !  I 
shall  be  glad  to  get  out  of  it,  which  will  be  next  Friday, 
and  safe  in  my  beddybeddy  Saturday  night.  Write 
to  Matunuck  and  tell  me  how  you  like  this  letter. 

LOVING  SUSAN. 


BOSTON,   NEW  YOKK,   CALIFORNIA     349 

To  MRS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

MATUNUCK,  EHODE  ISLAND,  October  7, 1899. 
.  .  .  Oh,  that  Back  Bay  Station !    Have  you  ever 
imagined    such    a   ghastly,    bellowing    cave    of   the 
winds?     I  got  there  Wednesday  afternoon  with  the 


Angel  in  my  hand,  not  darst  to  check  anything,  fear 
they  'd  carry  it  on  to  the  Interminable.  I  stood  upon 
a  blasted  heath  in  a  sort  of  tunnel,  looked  up  a  great 
ladder  and  saw  cabmen  at  the  top  (as  it  might  be 
that  landing  at  the  Yellowstone  Falls),  with  tele- 
scopes looking  down.  I  said  in  a  small  voice,  "  Could 
you  come  and  get  this  bag?"  One  of  them  took 


350    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

wings  and  pounced,  like  the  aforesaid  eagle,  and  thus 
I  was  saved.  But  how  devilish.  The  employees  are 
so  disconsolate.  The  man  at  the  news-stall  stands 
like  one  alone  in  a  desert,  saying  it 's  horrid.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSAN. 

To  MRS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND, 
Sunday,  November  5,  1899. 

Oh!  my  dear!  that  carpet!  It's  a  joy  forever, 
and,  strange  to  say,  it 's  exactly  the  right  dismentions 
(I  mean,  I  believe,  dimensions),  as  far  as  the  female 
brain  can  compound.  We  've  spread  it  out  in  the  big 
parlour,  and  every  little  while  I  say  to  Loisy,  "  Let 's 
go  and  look  at  my  carpet,"  and  when  the  morning 
sun  is  just  slanting  in  upon  it  and  door  stands  open 
admitting  balmy  perfumes  of  November,  I  go  and 
dance  my  saraband  all  over  it  to  a  joyous,  morning 
song.  Mr.  Browning  says,  "  I  don't  know  as  I  ever 
see  sech  a  one."  I  myself  know  perfectly  well  that 
he  never  did.  Seriously,  my  dear,  it  will  fit  exact 
in  this  room  where  I  want  it,  just  taking  out  the 
border  where  the  hearth  and  chimney  comes.  My! 
won't  it  look  handsome  in  this  room.  I  am  going 
to  leave  it  where  it  is  till  I  come  down  in  the  spring, 
and  then  spread  it  here.  Makes  me  long  all  the  more 
to  have  the  fitful,  feverish,  hateful  winter  over  with, 
and  me  here  again.  .  .  . 

I  had  a  rotten  time  in  town,  the  only  whiff  of 
excellence  was  seeing  you  come  in  at  the  door.  It 
is  enchanting  here.  I  still  breakfast  outdoors, — 
only  this  morning  I  didn't,  for  it  was  32°  only,  and 
the  sun  in  a  bank  of  clouds  where  it  arose,  lazy  thing, 
at  six-thirty.  Such  a  lovely  stroll  on  the  beach  yes- 
terday afternoon  and  lots  of  nice  thoughts  of  things 


BOSTON,  NEW  YORK,   CALIFORNIA    351 

past  and  to  come.  Home  in  a  glorious  sunset, — 
and  somebody  had  put  chrysanthemums  on  my 
mantelpiece,  and  the  fire  was  blazing,  and  a  small 
moon  looking  in  at  the  window.  Passed  the  evening 
with  Tristam  Lacy  (Mallock),  and  went  to  bed  at 
eight  o'clock.  ...  I  will  stop  now.  Lots  of  love. 

SUSAN. 

To  MRS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

221  NEWBTJRY  STREET,  February  .£,  1900. 
Now,  my  dear,  do  you  understand  that  I  am  in 
bed  with  bronchitis,  barking,  sneezing,  blowing,  for- 
bidden to  speak,  or  mix  with  my  kind,  and  confined 
to  my  doctor  for  companionship?  Well,  I  am,  and 
must  hurry  to  describe  it  to  you  before  I  get  perfectly 
well,  which  may  happen  at  any  moment,  and  I  want 
to  be  sure  you  know  how  dreadful  it  is  first.  No 
sooner  had  you  departed  than  my  bones  began  to  ache. 
On  Thursday  Mrs.  Wells  gave  me  a  lovely  tea  of 
about  thirty  constituents.  I  wore  my  (last  year's) 
pink-embroidered-on-black-Hollander  waist,  and  they 
all  said  how  well  I  looked,  and  began  planning  lunch- 
eons and  things  for  me.  The  next  day  I  moved  into 
these  (excellent)  rooms.  I  '11  tell  you  about  them 
later.  Went  to  a  dinner  that  evening,  it  was  a  fiend- 
ish night,  bellowing  wind,  and  that  slippery,  I  came 
near  sitting  down  on  the  curb-stone  several  times 
from  sheer  fear.  The  next  night  I  went  to  the  theatre 
to  see  Rogers  Brothers,  and  then  I  took  to  my  bed 
and  stayed  there  till  ever  since.  My  dear  Carry, 
I  bark  and  sneeze  just  the  way  you  used  to  do.  I 
didn't  know  before  that  bronchitis  was  like  that. 
Have  you  got  a  whole  chicken  yard  in  your  midst  that 
clucks  and  wheezes  and  yawps  and  bellows  just  how 
it 's  a  mind  to,  without  any  collusion  or  consent  from 
yourself  ?  Mine  does,  and  I  think  it  very  unpleasant. 


352    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

But  no  matter,  I  am  getting  over  it,  and  in  fact 
I'll  tell  you  about  a  little  spree  I  had  yesterday, 
which  turned  out  all  right.  You  see  this  221  New- 
bury  is  not  a  regular  boarding-house —  (God  forbid !) 
I  only  have  my  breakfast  in  my  room  —  it's  very 
good.  But  when  I  got  well  enough  to  eat,  and  my 
doctor  said  I  could  have  a  steak,  they  brought  me  up 
a  small  piece  of  white  leather  with  marks  of  a 
toasting-fork  over  it  and  some  pepper,  and  I  did  n't 
care  very  much  for  that.  So  the  next  day,  which 
was  yesterday,  I  just  privately  got  out  of  bed  and 
put  on  all  my  clothes  for  the  first  time  in  a  week, 
and  put  on  stockings  and  shoes,  and  my  flannel  waist 
and  the  "  Beast,"  and  tied  up  my  bonnet  in  a  veil, 
and  fastened  my  fur  over  my  mouth,  so  that  nothing 
was  to  be  seen  but  eyes,  like  an  owl  in  an  ivy  bush, 
and  I  ran  down-stairs  and  out  of  the  door  and  waited 
ten  minutes  on  the  corner,  a  devilish  wind  blowing 
forty  knots  an  hour,  and  not  only  knots  but  bits  of 
glass  and  brown  sticks,  one  of  which  went  into  my 
eye.  My  car  took  me  out  to  Highland  Street;  and 
I  stopped  and  bought  a  small,  thick  steak  at  the 
butcher's,  and  ordered  a  cab  at  the  stable,  and  walked 
up  the  hill  to  No.  39.  By  ill  luck  I  fell  foul  of  my 
doctor,  just  starting  off  in  his  automobile  runabout. 
He  flew  out  and  seized  me  by  the  fur.  "What  are  you 
doing  here,  Miss  Hale?"  It  was  a  good  thing;  for 
he  could  guide  me  firmly  into  the  house,  and  put  me 
down  on  a  sofa.  Every  soul  alive  was  out  of  the 
house,  but  we  gave  the  steak  to  the  cook,  the  doctor 
went  away,  and  by  and  by,  a  nice  succulent  smell 
came  up  on  a  hot  plate,  accompanied  by  juice  and 
nice  meat  and  a  slice  of  toast  and  glass  of  wine.  So 
I  ate  and  was  thankful,  very  thankful,  and  by  and 
by  my  cab  came  and  I  got  in  and  drove  back  here, 
and  went  to  bed  again,  none  the  worse.  Niece  Nelly 
turned  up,  in  the  midst  of  my  escapade,  and  tried 


BOSTON,   KEW  YORK,   CALIFORNIA    353 

to  make  me  stop  and  live  there,  but  I  couldn't  do 
that.  There  won't  be  any  more  trouble,  for  to-day 
there 's  roast  chicken  for  one  o'clock  dinner,  and  after 
this  I  shall  go  out  to  my  meals.  I  mean  to  visit  Rose 
and  forage  for  a  meal  pretty  soon,  so  don't  you  worry 
about  me,  because  I  shall  be  all  right  long  before  you 
get  this. 

As  for  what 's  going  on  in  the  world,  don't  ask  me, 
for  they  don't  let  me  see  people  for  fear  I  should  talk 

and  get  black  in  the  face.  is  going  to  marry 

.  She  is  the  Christian  Science  lady,  you  know. 

When  I  was  in  Washington  there  was  a  family  named 
M ,  or  something,  who  had  absolutely  no  diges- 
tion, and  suffered  agonies  from  peritonitis,  bronchitis, 
diagnosis,  and  meningitis,  whenever  they  put  food 

in  their  mouths.  But  after  they  knew  ,  they 

used  to  have  cucumbers  and  lobster  salad  regularly 
for  dinner,  and  just  telegraph  afterwards  to  her,  and 
she  would  simply  fix  her  mind  upon  her  Maker,  and 
they  would  digest  by  return  telegram.  .  .  . 

You  must  know  that  I  can  eat  here,  if  I  want  to 
(in  general  I  don't  want  to).  It  is  not  a  regular 
boarding-house,  but  three  worthy  spinsters,  the  only 
inmates  besides  the  landlady,  have  meals  which  I  can 
share  at  any  time,  quite  handy.  These  three  spin- 
sters occupy  each  one  room  by  herself,  and  they  think 
I  am  splendid  because  I  have  a  parlour.  They  stick 
out  their  noses  and  wiggle  them  like  rabbits  when 
my  "  company  "  comes,  through  their  cracks  to  their 
doors,  —  and  they  all  have  shut-up  bedsteads,  —  and 
they  all  make  their  own  beds  and  lie  in  them.  I  am 
so  afraid  they  will  all  be  found  dead  some  morning, 
and  I  shall  be  accused  of  the  crime.  There 's  a  bed 
of  that  description  here  in  my  chamber,  but  I  won't 
sleep  in  it,  so  it's  "draped,"  as  the  landlady  calls 
it,  and  looks  a  cross  between  a  catafalque  and  a 
shower-bath.  But  my  room  is  so  big  it  don't  trouble, 


354         LETTEES   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

and  I  keep  my  shopping  on  it.  It's  too  bad  this 
letter  is  not  so  amusing  as  the  last,  but  the  materials 
don't  seem  so  succulent.  Write,  write  incessantly. 

Yours, 

SUSAN. 

To  MBS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

221  NEWBURY  STREET,  February  23,  1900. 
DEAR  CAROLINE,  —  This  is  me  yesterday  going  out 
to  catch  a  car  in  my  black  lace  and  arctics.    No  bon- 


net,  as  it  was  impossible  to  open  the  umbrella.  No- 
body stared,  for  there  was  nobody  anywhere.  I  had 
the  car  to  myself,  and  buzzed  down  to  the  Subway, 
ran  into  the  "  'Dike,"  where  they  took  me  apart  and 


BOSTON,   NEW  YOKE,   CALIFORNIA     355 

hung  me  up  to  dry;  and  when  Philip  and  Steven 
Codman  came  in  they  found  me  sitting  cheerfully 
at  the  table  in  my  red-flannel  shirt-waist,  with  cock- 
tails and  oysters  all  ready  for  them.  We  had  a  jolly 
time  and  so  celebrated  the  Father  of  our  Country. 
It  was  a  merry  rain,  poured  all  day  and  till  midnight, 
and  so  hot !  I  was  here  in  the  evening  reading,  and 
the  thermometer  was  80°,  with  window  open  and 
register  shut. 

The  other  spree  I  had  was  going  to 's  funeral, 

which  had  place  in  my  brother's  church,  quite  handy. 
John  Tibbetts,  I  understand,  says  he  is  always  glad 
of  a  funeral  when  he  comes  here  to  see  his  mother, 
for  everybody  sees  you,  and  it  saves  the  trouble  of 
sending  cards.  I  was  with  Parber,  who  performed 
the  occasion,  so  I  came  up  the  little  winding  stair 
by  the  pulpit,  and  thus  burst  upon  the  mourners 
assembled,  and  popped  into  the  first  place  handy  next 

to ,  instead  of  being  sorted  out,  according  to  my 

kind,  by  Russell  Sullivan  and  other  devout  ushers, 
who  were  doing  their  duty  at  the  main  entrance.  As 

•  is  niece  of  the  departed  husband  of  the  deceased, 

she  may  have  resented  this  contiguity.  But  she's 
deaf  as  a  post,  so  she  didn't  dare  say  anything,  and 
I  pressed  her  hand  to  show  it  was  all  right.  Soon,  all 
the  collaterals  came  in,  swathed  in  crape,  so  you 
couldn't  tell  them  apart.  .  .  .  Helen  and  Minnie, 
Emma  Rodman  and  her  dear,  handsome,  old  father, 
who  looks  as  if  he  were  walking  in  a  dream  of  fifty 

years  ago,  and  that  devil, ,  still  alive,  though  the 

Woman  Suffrage  Bill  is  knocked  dead  as  a  door-nail. 
She  fell  upon  me  and  hung  around  my  neck,  but  I 
cast  her  off  like  a  millstone,  and  swam  across  the 
street  to  my  car.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 


356         LETTEKS   OF   SUSAN'   HALE 

To  MKS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

BOSTON,  March  1,  1900. 

DEAR  CAROLINE,  —  Carla  Atkinson  is  coming  here 
to  lunch  with  me  and  take  me  to  a  concert,  but  I  'm 
too  previous,  and  she  won't  be  here  for  half  an  hour ; 
so  I  '11  sit  in  a  corner  and  write. 

It 's  pouring ;  did  you  ever  know  anything  like  it ! 
Chicago  is  buried  in  eleven  inches  of  snow,  but  we 
are  in  a  Niagara.  That 's  why  I  'm  not  running  to 
see  Kose  in  this  interval.  Sheets  of  water  bar  the 
way  between  this  and  No.  6,  and  what 's  more,  I  've 
just  broken  the  mainspring  of  my  lovely  umbrella, 
so  it 's  run  down  and  no  good. 

Under  these  circumstances,  I  will  simply  give  you 
a  plain,  unvarnished  tale  of  what  happened  to  me 
when  I  last  went  out  into  the  world  on  Tuesday  last. 
First,  I  had  luncheon  with  George  at  the  Union  Club, 
and,  by  the  way,  we  had  little  chunks  of  lobster  en 
brochette  with  thin  bacon  between,  just  fried  in 
crumbs  with  a  mayonnaise  sauce,  or  eke  Tartare. 
Good  idea?  Then  I  lifted  myself  up  along  by  the 
State  House,  seeing  things  I  never  dreamed  of  before, 
a  great  eagle  on  a  column,  and  a  f agade  facing  some 
place  and  a  tunnel  that  pretended  to  be  Mount  Ver- 
non  Street,  and  a  dirt  heap  that  was  all  that  was  left 
of  Hancock  Place ;  and  so  by  reason  of  great  strength 
arrived  at  No.  24,  where  Isabella  and  Mary  Curtis 
reside,  next  door  to  Greely.  It  was  something  after 
two,  and  of  course  too  early,  and  I  had  made  an  awful 
mess  of  it,  because  they  were  just  sitting  down  to 
middle-day  dinner,  after  the  customs  of  the  ancients. 
They  begged  me  to  join,  but  the  memory  of  the 
Irochette  was  too  recent.  They  showed  me  a  little 
real  owl  that  sits  in  a  chestnut-tree  at  the  back  of 
their  house,  and  eats  the  sparrows.  ...  I  then  in 


BOSTON,   NEW  YORK,   CALIFORNIA    357 

a  perfunctory  manner  meant  to  drop  a  card  on  the 

lamenting  's,  on  account  of  her  mother.     You 

remember  the  hymn,  "  I  '11  drop  my  burden  at  their 
feet  and  bear  a  card  away."  Of  course  she  was  see- 
ing no  one,  but  to  my  amazement  the  man-opener, 

I  mean  doorkeeper,  said  he  was  sure  Mr. would 

see  Miss  Hale,  and  so  he  would,  and  we  had  a  really 
charming  chat  of  half  an  hour  concerning  the  demise ; 
and  her  kindnesses  and  eccentricities,  and  the  family 
diamonds  and  pictures,  and  how  pleased  they  were 
with  Edward  E.  and  the  service  in  his  church,  and 
all  that.  It  seems  she  died  all  in  a  minute  very 
peacefully  and  quietly  —  and  that's  a  blessing  for 
anybody  —  and  there  is  no  will,  because  she  had  de- 
stroyed the  one  she  once  made,  saying  that  everybody 
mentioned  in  it  was  dead  before  her,  and  many  other 
little  traits  really  touching  and  pleasant  to  dwell  on. 
So  then,  on  leaving  there,  I  thought  it  was  late 
enough  to  put  in  at  Helen  and  Minnie's,  but  the 
maid,  clothed  exclusively  in  a  cap  and  a  flaming 
sword,  proclaimed  they  didn't  receive  till  four. 
Whereupon,  like  the  peri  at  the  gate  with  no  oil  in 
my  lamp  and  not  murmuring  "  Too  late,"  I  was 
for  going  elsewhere,  but  Papa  Ellerton  Pratt  from 
the  top  of  the  stairs  bellowed  that  Miss  Hale  was  to 
come  up.  Once  again  saved  by  masculine  supremacy. 
We  sate,  Pratt-ling,  in  front  of  a  great  log,  on  the 
well-known  sofa  with  ancestors  looking  down  on  us, 
till  Minnie  and  Helen  came  in,  and  persons  of  all 
ages  and  sexes,  amongst  the  latter  Edward  Jackson, 
and  dear  old  Henry  Sayles,  who  is  getting  aweary  of 
this  world.  Hb  thinks  it's  this  world,  but  I  know 
it's  Boston  that's  the  matter  with  him.  However, 
he 's  just  had  a  little  spin  in  the  Mediterranean  with 
(a  nephew)  Tappan  Francis,  and  they  saw  Mrs. 
Homans  and  Taormina,  and  the  Cappella  Reale  at 
Palermo  and  several  things,  but  not  Girgenti.  Agnes 


358        LETTERS   OF   SUSAN"  HALE 

Irwin  came  in,  and  she  and  I  went  away  together, 
and  blew  down  the  street  with  a  howling  gale  against 
us,  .  .  .  till  I  forsook  her,  to  call  at  the  May  Win- 
sors'.  They  were  out,  —  the  good-for-nothings  —  but 
I  went  in  and  tied  my  head  up  again  (did  you  see 
about  the  girl  at  the  concert,  who  sate  bleeding  all 
down  her  cheek  from  too  firm  a  hat-pin  ?),  and  went 
on  to  call  on  Mrs.  Townsend,  a  dinner  call,  and  then 
on  Mrs.  C.  G.  Loring  in  Otis  Place.  The  great  big 
sun  was  pouring  its  level  rays  through  that  gap,  a 
flood  of  gold,  but  the  gale  was  unabated.  Mrs.  Lor- 
ing away,  but  the  genial  General  there,  who  showed 
me  their  daffodils,  and  then  I  came  out  again  into 
the  cold  world.  The  last  blow  was  meeting  Harriet 
Guild,  who  told  me  everybody  else  was  dead,  so  I 
flang  myself  into  a  passing  automobile  and  had  my- 
self taken  home.  Took  off  my  regalia,  put  on  a 
wrapper,  had  a  simple  meal  of  a  cup  of  tea  and  some 
crackers,  and  read  a  German  novel  I  Ve  got  till  nine, 
and  so  to  bed.  There  now,  I  guess  it's  time  for 
Carla. 

Yours, 
SUSY. 

To  MBS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

THORNDEN,  Sunday,  March  25,  1900. 

Oh !  Carry,  to  think  my  dear  Mr.  Rogers  is  dead ! 
I  just  read  it  in  my  Sun.  The  dearest  man  ever  was ! 
Remember  his  reading  Rob's  poem  to  us  at  Mrs. 
Thaw's  luncheon?  I  know  he  didn't  want  to  live 
any  more,  after  the  death  of  his  wife ;  they  were  the 
most  devoted  people  I  ever  saw,  —  he  has  been  brave 
as  brave  since  her  death,  and  kept  up  his  cheerful 
gaiety  as  well  as  he  could  —  but  it  was  no  good.  He 
has  had  lots  of  sad  things  happen  to  him.  Oh,  dear ! 

Excuse  this  lamentation  of  mine,  and  tell  me  what- 


BOSTON,   NEW  YOKK,   CALIFORNIA    359 

ever  you  hear  about  him.  I  send  you  (direct  from 
publishers  in  Toronto)  the  "  Lunatic  at  large," 
which  we  think  pretty  funny,  but  not  so  funny  as 
the  people  think  who  think  it  is  very  funny.  If  you 
get  this  before  you  begin  the  book,  skip  the  introduc- 
tion, till  after  you  have  read  the  book.  It  spoils  the 
effect.  I  think  it  will  read  aloud  well. 

It's  too  bad  about  your  readers.  No  good  in 
people  that  don't  read  con  amore.  We  might  buy  a 
"  something-phone,"  and  have  me  read  into  it,  and 


send  the  scrolls  on  by  instalments,  for  you  to  let  loose 
while  you  are  sitting  round  sewing  on  the  square 
piaz.  Ha !  pleasing  thought,  but  rather  dull  for  me, 
sitting  bellowing  into  a  hole  with  no  response. 

Before  I  forget  it,  let  me  tell  you  to  be  sure  and 
buy  the  two  Scribners  for  March  and  April,  on  ac- 
count of  a  tale  in  two  parts  called  the  "  Touch- 
stone "  by  Mrs.  or  Miss  Wharton.  We  have  only  read 
the  first  part,  and  are  impatiently  awaiting  the  end 
in  the  April  number.  It  is  very  clever;  she  is  more 
James-y  than  Henry  himself,  epigrammatic  in  every 
line,  but  her  style  thus  far  has  the  merit  that  you  can 
understand  what  she  means,  on  account  of  her  finish- 
ing her  sentences,  which  her  master  had  long  ceased 
to  do. 

We  have  here  now  Miss  Kirkland    (you  know, 


360    LETTEES  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

mother  a  Wilkinson,  thus  cousin  once  removed  of 
May's),  who  was  living  in  Johannesburg  when  the 
row  began,  with  her  brother  Jack,  who  is  an  Edison 
man ;  he  was  trying  in  his  Edisonian  way  to  electrify 
South  Africa,  when  South  Africa  turned  upon  him 
and  electrified  the  world.  They  had  to  come  away, 
naturally,  leaving  ("their  tails"  and)  batteries  behind 
them,  and  she  is  giving  three  "  talks  "  here  in  Syra- 
cuse about  the  situation.  All  Davises  and  herself  are 
fiercely  English,  and  I  have  learned  much  about  the 
impossibility  of  Boers.  Apart  from  opinions,  she 
is  very  interesting,  and  describes  picturesque  Johan- 
nesburg, all  glowing  in  the  primitive  colours,  red 
earth,  blue  sky,  intense  green  of  "  wattle,"  etc.,  in  a 
very  interesting  manner.  It  will  never  look  so  any 
more,  for  the  war  will  have  spoiled  everything,  even 
if  Kruger  don't  blow  it  up.  ...  Good-bye,  dear. 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  MBS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  April  8,  1900. 

DEAR  CARRY,  —  At  last!  I Ve  cleared  decks  of 
baleful  bills,  perfunctory  notes,  and  refusals  of  offers 
of  marriage,  and  "  come  to  you  at  last "  with  my  big 
yarn.  I've  been  here  just  a  week  (to-morrow)  and 
everything  is  lovely.  The  landscape  is  sere  and 
brown  still,  but  the  great  big  sea  is  all  sparkling 
with  sunshine,  alder  tassels  are  getting  on  their  mus- 
tard, fat  robins  jounce  the  ground,  and  I  saw  a  great 
rabbit.  The  only  other  wild  beast  visible  is  the 
donkey  down  at  Browning's.  .  .  . 

Then  I  touched  in  New  York  to  get  a  good  soak 
in  the  villainies  of  that  place  before  coming  into 
retirement  here.  .  .  .  Billy  and  I  had  skurce  time 
after  this  to  dress  for  dinner,  —  and  then  go  to 


BOSTON,   NEW  YOKK,   CALIFOKNIA     361 

"  Sherlock  Holmes,"  which  is  splendid,  Will  Gillette 
being  the  incarnation  absolute  of  Conan  Doyle's  crea- 
tion ;  long,  thin,  wiry,  imperturbable.  The  best  scene 
is  in  a  most  unpleasant  cellar  where  you  are  led  to 
believe  that  gas  may  escape  at  any  moment  and  suf- 
focate everybody,  especially  Sherlock  H.,  who  is  de- 
coyed there  for  that  purpose,  when  suddenly  he  takes 
a  great  chair  he's  been  sitting  in  and  smashes  the 
only  lamp,  so  that  not  only  that  cellar,  but  the  whole 
theatre,  is  in  total  darkness,  except  the  gleam  of  his 
cigar  up  by  a  broken  window.  Of  course,  all  his  at- 
tackers fly  up  to  that  window  to  catch  him,  except 
one,  who  brings  another  light,  revealing  Mr.  Sher- 
lock Holmes  slipping  out  of  the  opposite  door,  which 
he  bangs  behind  him,  and  we  hear  him  bolting  a  mil- 
lion great  bolts  the  other  side,  and  the  curtain  goes 
down  leaving  everybody  to  perish  miserably,  except 
himself  and  a  girl  there  is  round.  It  is  thrilling.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  MRS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

MATUNUCK,  KHODE  ISLAND,  April  29,  1900. 
...  As  for  Francis  and  me,  we  have  nothing 
much  to  tell  in  return.  Our  excitements  are  limited 
to  bursting  in  on  each  other  after  long,  solitary 
prowls  among  the  hills  with  our  arms  full  of  luscious 
Mayflower,  which  is  now  in  perfection.  One  dawdles 
along  peering  under  laurel  clumps  and  dead  leaves 
till  a  little  patch  appears  full  of  winking,  little  white 
blossoms.  In  my  case  I  let  my  huge  bulk  down  with 
a  slump  by  one  of  these  patches,  and  lay  hold  of  a 
bunch,  lo!  the  trailing  vine  comes  up  with  blossoms 
hanging  along  its  stem  for  half  a  yard,  dainty  pink, 
and  sweet  in  smell.  Nice  little  anemones  say  "Ha! 
ha !  "  under  the  bushes,  and  my !  such  big  dandelions, 


362    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

just  fit  boutormieres  for  a  robin,  going  to  his  wedding 
in  a  fat,  red  waistcoat.  Brambles  prevail,  and  I 
came  in  streaming  with  blood  last  time  from  a  rent 
in  my  wrist,  grabbing  an  especially  good  blue  violet. 
No  matter,  there 's  carbolated  vaseline  and  asphyxi- 
ated cotton  in  the  house,  as  well  as  soap  and  warm 
water.  .  .  . 

LOVING  SUSIE. 


To  Miss  ELLEN  DAY  HALE 

7 :  30  A.  M.,  MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND, 
May  15,  1900. 

DEAR  NELLY,  —  Are  you  there  ?  I  believe  I  must 
write  you  one  of  my  jorums.  It  is  perfectly  exquis- 
ite here,  yesterday  and  to-day,  after  so  much  waiting, 
and  some  really  bitter  weather.  Doors  and  windows 
all  open,  "birrids"  singing,  buds  sprouting,  sum- 
mer heat  and  a  soft  haze  in  the  air.  Yesterday  I  did 
nothing  but  dream  and  dawdle,  in  the  front  porch 
chiefly,  neither  reading  nor  sewing,  just  watching 
the  things.  It's  so  still  here.  Yesterday  I  heard 
somebody  whistling;  thought  it  must  be  on  my  own 
hill ;  no,  it  was  a  man  away  by  Matlack's ;  finally  he 
came  along  with  a  tin  pail  and  started  down  the  drift- 
way. I  saw  (and  heard  him  till  the  sounds  were 
lost),  and  then  I  could  still  see  him,  the  only  black 
spot  in  the  road,  way  down  to  Wanton's,  still  blithely 
walking  along  whistling.  And  that  was  all  that  hap- 
pened during  that  space  of  half  an  hour. 

Just  now  when  I  was  eating  outdoors  a  little 
"smole  birrid"  came  and  sate  down  in  a  crotch  of 
the  vine,  hitched  about  to  see  if  it  sate  easy  —  exam- 
ined the  timbers  with  an  eye  to  building.  Then  flew 
away,  to  tell  Mr.  Birrid,  I  suppose,  what  the  rent 


BOSTON,   NEW  YORK,   CALIFORNIA    363 

Nothing  is  done  on  my  place,  for  not  a  man  is  to 
be  had.  I  must  marry;  what  I  need  is  a  man  under 
constant  control,  who  can  move  bookcases,  beat  car- 
pets, saw  wood,  change  a  bedstead.  .  .  . 

YOUK  SUSAN. 


To  Miss  MARY  B.  DINSMOOR 
MATTJNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  June  1 ,  1900. 
Hours  with  Browning 

DEAR  MARY, — When  your  little  friends  ask  you 
about  the  employment  of  my  time,  and  you  mention 
the  above  as  one  factor  in  my  existence,  I  fear  they 
may  misapprehend.  This  thought  was  mine  just 
now  as  I  was  engaged  with  Robert  B.,  pursuing  our 
agreement  that  he  "  chore "  for  me  one  hour  a  day 
for  a  dollar  a  week,  in  the  aesthetic,  poetic,  congenial 
task  of  cleaning  up  the  dog-house  and  cellar.  Not 
Sordello  but  sawed  wood  was  our  background,  — 
"  Here !  pass  the  broom,"  not  Pippa  passes.  The  joke 
is  threadbare,  but  still  retains  its  humorous  aspect. 
The  most  interesting  thing  we  discovered  was  three 
addled  eggs  on  a  shelf  in  the  dog-house,  which  it's 
thought  Bartlett,  not  Partlet  (  !  ),  laid  there  last 
autumn.  They  suggested  themselves  first  to  my  nose, 
later  on  to  sight.  Well,  the  occasion  was  an  interest- 
ing and  drastic  one,  and  I  don't  feel  much  more  ex- 
hausted than  after  a  regular  Browning  seance  with 
T.  Wentworth  Higginson  in  the  chair,  and,  after  all, 
now  that  I  am  cleaned  up  myself,  in  my  red  gown, 
hair  tied  and  put  up,  hands  washed,  and  a  pocket- 
handkerchief  about  me,  it  is  but  ten  o'clock  and 
plenty  time  for  late  mail.  .  .  . 

"  Children  of  the  Mist "  is  here,  and  I  'm  sure  I 
shall  like  it.  It  has  the  real  Dartmoor  tang,  don't 
it,  and,  as  you  say,  suggests  Hardy,  although  strong 


364        LETTEES   OF   SUSAN"  HALE 

and  individual.  I  divided  my  brief  evening  between 
that  and  Maeterlinck's  "Bees,"  which  is  most  de- 
lightful. I  have  it  in  English  (partly  because  they 
won't  send  me  the  French).  I'm  sure  I  shall  get  so 
stuck-up  with  honeycombs  and  queens  as  to  reach  the 
belief  that  mankind  is  a  mere  detail.  (Oh!  must 
I  say  that  to  Bee  or  not  to  Bee  is  the  real 
question!)  .  .  . 

So  far  we  are  alone,  but  Francis  is  due  at  any 
moment,  and  all  the  Grays  arrive  to-morrow,  via 
Sound  boat,  at  9  :30  A.  M.,  or  thereabouts;  there  will 
then  be  five  in  the  kitchen  to  feed  and  eight,  no,  only 
six,  in  the  dining-room,  i.e.,  Parber's  study,  —  with 
Edward,  the  baby,  suspended  between.  We  have  had 
three  lovely  days;  now  it's  cloudy  again.  Jim 
Brown  came  and  climbed  ladders,  mended  the  leak, 
fastened  up  the  front  door,  made  all  the  windows 
open-and-shutable,  unstuck  the  slats  of  blinds,  stopt 
the  hole  in  the  fireplace  and  said  it  was  dangerous, 
besides  making  himself  most  agreeable,  and  charging 
the  whole  to  Mr.  Weeden  (at  the  request  it  appears 
of  the  latter).  Jim  has  a  loud,  bellowing  voice,  like 
hailing  you  from  the  top-mast,  and  if  you  don't  adopt 
his  pitch  in  reply,  he  says,  "  Haow  ? " 

By  the  way,  why  not  have  a  "Half -sheet 
Club,"  with  no  laws,  and  one  by-law,  which  should 
be  for  members  only  to  write  to  members  when 
reminded  to  by  the  sight  of  a  half-sheet  and  on  it 
"  Half-sheets  without  Authors "  could  be  the  name 
of  the  club,  and  you  and  I  could  be  the  only  ones 
in  it. 

I  must  stop,  partly  because  I  observe  that,  like  the 
eggs,  I  'm  addled.  I  '11  go  and  hem  napkins  to  restore 
my  tone.  My  place  and  house  look  sweet  really; 
Mary  Burrell  and  Cornelia  came  down  yesterday  and 
brought  me  a  mess  of  greens  (chadlocks,  spinach, 
milk-weed,  dandelions,  all  in  a  brown-paper  bag)  and 


BOSTON,   NEW  YORK,   CALIFORNIA     365 

a  huge  bunch  of  my  lilacs,  snowballs  and  things. 
Everything  is  a  dream  of  green  lushness  between  here 
and  Wakefield. 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  Miss  ELLEN  H.  WEEDEN 
(MBS.  K  W.  SMITH) 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  November  5, 1901. 

DEAR  POLLY,  —  The  sun  was  just  coming  out  of  a 
fog-bank,  the  thermometer  was  32°,  when  I  began 
to  eat  outdoors  this  morning.  The  whole  land  was 
covered  with  a  white  frost.  Weeden's  Hill  looked 
like  a  birthday  cake,  and  I  wanted  to  see  everything 
begin  to  sparkle  when  the  sun  touched  it,  and  I  did. 
Coffee  and  beef -steak  smoked  in  the  sharp  air,  and  so 
did  my  breath,  but  I  had  on  my  little  fur,  and  my 
bear  over  my  knees,  —  and  a  good  snapping  fire  in 
the  red  room  to  fall  back  on.  I  have  fallen  back  on 
it  now.  It's  50°  in  here.  You  can't  imagine  any- 
thing more  lovely  than  the  weather  all  this  week. 
I  've  got  jolly  chrysanthemums  in  my  yellow  pot  on 
the  table,  and  nasturtiums  picked  yesterday  from 
your  wall.  .  .  .  Write. 

Yours, 
SUSAN. 

To  Miss  ELLEN  DAY  HALE 

FUNCHAL,  MADEIRA,  Thursday,  I  guess, 

January  30, 1902. 

DEAR  NELLY,  —  Here  we  are  at  the  place  I  came 
out  to  see,  and  it  is  very  satisfactory.  We  were  play- 
ing round  on  shore  yesterday,  and  were  going  in  a 
boat  at  ten  o'clock.  Meanwhile  I  will  stop  staring 
at  the  island  and  the  native  boats  wobbling  up  and 


366    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

down  at  the  landing  stair,  and  write  you  about  it. 
May  be  this  will  join  my  fat  letter  in  the  mail-bag. 

We  are  having  a  jolly  time  with  the  Swift-Gray 
combination,  and  they  are  all  nice  to  me.  The  girls 
are  agreeably  excited  and  fresh.  We  were  all  out 
and  competing  for  the  bath-tub  before  six  (this  was 
yesterday).  Of  course,  the  whole  ship  arose  and 
swarmed  ashore,  but  we  were  sitting  on  the  very  top 
deck  as  the  sunrise  touched  the  island  and  its  great 
cliffs  began  to  unfold  themselves  before  us.  Until 
nine  we  were  gliding  along  confronting  them.  Lus- 
cious, soft  tints,  you  know,  —  like  Andalusia,  red  and 
green,  forests  and  waterfalls  and  little  houses  like 
Noah's  Ark  set  about  in  folds  of  the  vineyard.  Rap- 
turous !  Made  me  feel  just  like  Straits  of  Gibraltar 
and  to  cry,  "Oh,  why  ever  stay  away  from  these 
things?"  Then  came  the  landing  in  wobbly  small 
boats.  We  went  over  with  Swifts  pretty  early  in  the 
game  and  climbed  that  fearful  stony  stair,  all  slime, 
that  occurs  at  intervals  all  round  the  Mediterranean 
(for  this  seems  just  like  that  sea,  though  outside  of 
it).  Portuguese  "nao"  sounded  in  our  ears,  the 
naked  natives  were  diving  for  coins. 

Sometimes  I  think  this  first  impression  is  the 
whole  thing.  Might  just  as  well  go  home  now,  and 
wait  till  you  forget  it,  and  then  start  out  and  come 
again.  But  the  rest  is  excellent,  also;  I  mean  the 
more  to  come.  There  was  a  worthy  man  on  the  pier 
with  a  very  English  accent,  who  proved  to  be  Jones 
of  Kentucky.  He  had  simply  strolled  out  to  see  the 
event  of  our  arrival,  which  occurs  only  once  a  year. 
Ethel  was  keen  to  enjoy  the  medley  of  all  sorts,  which 
I  won't  describe,  except  small  puppies  just  out  of  a 
nutshell,  and  a  tall  negro  in  the  garb  of  a  Catholic 
priest.  Hot,  mind  you,  on  shore,  and  ladies  in  pan- 
nelas  bringing  fat  roses  and  violets,  camellias  and 
callas.  Finally  came  our  Henrys  (all  the  rest  of  the 


BOSTON,  NEW  YORK,   CALIFORNIA    367 

ship-load  spued  out  of  boats  in  the  interval),  and 
we  went  and  sat  in  ox-carts,  we  really  did,  to  be 
drawn  up  the  mountain.  But  such  ox-carts,  wait 
till  I  tell  Mister  Browning  about  them.  Low  vic- 
torias on  runners  with  easy  seats  front  and  back  like 
a  hack,  tops  like  palaquins,  with  curtains  that  draw 
or  open.  Thus  we  sate  in  three  of  them,  me,  Mrs. 
Henry,  Mrs.  Townsend,  Mrs.  Wister  in  one  —  Ethel 
with  three  of  our  men  in  another,  and  Mr.  Henry, 
Miss  Butcher,  and  the  other  two  in  the  third.  Oh 
it 's  so  pretty.  A  great  brook  divides  the  town  down 
a  chasm  with  arched  bridges  over  it;  and  all  ferns 
and  elephants-ears  growing  on  the  sides,  women  wash- 
ing, and  lizards  down  there.  The  climbing  stretch 
is  paved  with  cobblestones;  and  plane-trees,  as  yet 
bare,  are  planted  along.  We  glided  up  to  Reid's 
hotel,  somebody  urging  the  oxen,  which  are  buff  and 
small,  with  bedposts  on  them  for  yokes,  and  men 
running  each  side,  and  all  yelling,  and  small  boys 
pressing  flowers  on  us,  and  expecting  small  coin 
(English),  which  we  lacked,  so  then  they  gave  us  the 
fat  roses.  The  town  is  all  on  the  slant,  you  under- 
stand, like  the  back  of  Mentone,  red  tiles,  green 
blinds,  gardens  with  our  same  California  things,  I 
mean  bougainvillaeas,  scarlet  passion-flower,  begonia, 
trumpet  flowers,  Marechal  Niels,  La  Marks,  all 
climbing  round  like  mad  with  splotches  each  of  its 
colour,  streets  very  narrow,  high  walls,  and  these 
gardens  on  top  of  them,  with  smiling  faces  looking 
out  of  lattices  and  throwing  down  buds  of  camellias 
to  us.  We  went  up  and  up  for  two  hours,  I  should 
think,  getting  steeper,  more  bellowing,  men  sweat- 
ing; they  keep  greasing  the  runners  with  a  kind  of 
horse-tail  they  have,  which  makes  the  cobblestones 
very  slippery.  At  last  we  alighted  at  a  gate  in  a 
very  high  wall,  and  inside  was  "  Santa  Clara,"  the 
villa  belonging  to  Mr.  Gordon,  a  cousin  of  Mr. 


368        LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   ItALE 

Henry's,  who  never  lives  in  it  now ;  Mr.  G.  had  writ- 
ten his  people  to  serve  Mr.  Henry's  party  a  luncheon 
in  the  veranda.  Wasn't  it  delightful  for  us?  The 
garden,  etc.,  like  such  villas  at  Algiers,  full  of  trees 
and  shrubs,  a  broad,  turfed  terrace  with  a  moss- 
tinted,  red  parapet,  and  down  below  the  town,  the 
sea,  and  our  smoke-stacks  like  dots  on  the  water.  A 
lovely  play  of  clouds. 

It  rains  three  hundred  days  here,  but  off  and  on 
sun  bursting  out,  and  there  is  almost  a  constant  rain- 
bow over  the  place,  with  one  leg  of  it  in  the  water. 
The  house  is  forlorn,  because  deserted,  with  great 
opening  rooms,  and  windows  like  doors  opening  on 
verandas,  with  vistas  between  bay-trees.  Pity  they 
are  bored  with  it,  the  Gordons.  We  had  a  cold  lunch 
served  by  a  worthy  old  Portuguese  care-taker  and 
a  valet  de  place  Mr.  Henry  brought  along  from  the 
town.  My!  it  was  good,  cold  pasty  of  "weal  and 
'am,"  —  cold  beef,  turkey  with  pate  de  fois,  a  deli- 
cious salad  mayonnaise,  of  which  Miss  Butcher  said 
she  had  tasted  nothing  so  good  since  leaving  Philadel- 
phia, cheese  cakes.  We  were  hungry  as  bears,  and 
ate  joyously.  After  luncheon  the  fun  was  to  see  lots 
of  sledges  sliding  down  the  cobblestones,  these  were 
returning  ship's  company,  amazed  to  perceive  us  up 
at  the  lattices,  and  by  and  by  we  got  into  our  baskets 
on  runners,  and  flew  down  lickety-split,  but  I  was  n't 
frightened,  for  we  were  tightly  wedged  in,  Mrs.  Henry 
and  me,  by  an  Uncle  used  for  that  purpose.  Our 
two  running  men,  one  on  each  side,  urged  and  re- 
strained us  by  ropes,  running,  yelling,  slipping,  slid- 
ing, swerving  round  corners,  sparing  three  elderly 
ladies  in  the  sledges  in  front  of  us,  from  instant 
death.  In  a  jiffy  we  were  down  at  sea-level  and  close 
to  the  stream  and  plane-trees.  We  fooled  round  in 
the  shops  a  little;  the  basket  work  is  celebrated,  but 
I  can't  very  well  take  home  large  piazza  chairs  with 


BOSTON,  NEW  YORK,   CALIFORNIA    369 

arms.  Henrys  all  stayed  over  to  a  ball,  made  for  the 
Auguste  Victoria,  but  Ethel  sweetly  didn't  care  to, 
and  we  came  home  in  lovely  lights,  rainbow,  etc., 
about  four,  tireder  than  dogs;  at  least,  I  was.  .  .  . 

LOVING  SUSAN. 

To  MKS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  May  5,  1902. 

MY  DEAK,  —  I  have  waited  to  write  this  till  the 
last  moment  before  your  arrival,  that  it  may  reach! 
you  warm  and  bubbling  with  freshness  and  all  the 
glow  of  this  raw  sou'easter  now  raging.  I  had  your 
grand  letters,  but  no  use  answering  out  into  space 
with  no  address  short  of  6  Comm.  .  .  . 

Speaking  of  space,  and  wireless  Marconi,  did  you 
see  about  the  mouse  that  wanted  to  go  to  a  piece  of 
cheese  he  saw?  "Take  care,"  said  Ma  Mouse,  "it 
may  be  one  of  these  wireless  traps."  Of  course  you 
know  that  I  have  long  had  a  wireless  doorbell,  the 
knob  is  still  up  in  the  garret  some  place.  Nobody 
ever  answers  it,  but  it  answers  perfectly  well  itself, 
so  I  feel  in  advance  of  the  invention.  By  the  way, 
I  have  just  invented  wireless  bird-cages,  won't  it  be 
nice,  all  those  little  birds  we  saw  in  Mexico  sitting 
round  in  the  air  on  invisible  perches,  eating  invisible 
seeds  out  of  wireless  glass.  Of  course  they  can't  fly 
away,  through  fear  of  Marconi.  I  mean  to  have 
a  quantity  of  them. 

But  this,  you  will  remark,  is  neither  here  nor  there; 
You  will  want  to  know  some  of  my  adventures  since 
last  I  wrote,  whether  from  Europe,  Asia  or  Africa, 
I  can't  remember.  Yet  stay,  —  it  was  to  Louisa  I 
wrote  last  from  May  Moulton's  lovely  spare-room 
on  March  18.  Since  then,  ever  since  then,  I  Ve  been 
fighting  a  barking,  sneezing,  catarrhal  attack,  such  as 
you  've  seen  me  through  with  many  a  time.  Oh !  for 


370    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

Dr.  Deahens'  glorious  spraying-machines!  It  was 
the  change  from  lovely  Algiers  to  cold  raw  London 
done  it,  and  then  the  Voyage  on  the  Saint  Paul  was 
colder  and  rawer  (but  lots  of  fun,  I  had  my  cabin 
to  myself,  dressed  a  doll,  read  a  whole  book,  and 
mended  all  my  stockings).  Black  and  blue  all  over 
from  bumping  in  and  out  of  my  berth,  so  rough. 
Then  New  York,  Boston,  coldest,  rawest,  —  but  Pa's 
Millennium  had  to  be  attended  to,  a  glorious  ovation 
it  really  was,  and  he  was  in  fine  shape  throughout, 
all  my  boys,  his  sons,  there,  and  we  sate  in  a  row  to 
contemplate  the  apotheosis  of  Pa.  .  .  . 

YOUR  LOVING  SUSIE. 

To  Miss  MAEY  B.  DINSMOOR 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  May  14,  1902. 
DEAR  MARY,  —  I  can't  resist  this  envelope,  though 
I  'm  sure  it  will  shock  your  hostess,  when  f  orwardedl 
I  want  to  tell  you  that  the  Saturday  and  Sunday  were 
the  most  fiendish  days  here.  Howling  winds  and  that 
cold,  Tom's  potatoes  were  froze,  and  there  was  an 
inch  of  "  oice "  in  Alice's  dish-pan.  It  was,  I  am 
sure,  Martinique  weather.  (How  terrible  that  is!) 
It  was  impossible  to  keep  even  the  red  parlour  warm, 
55°  either  inside  or  out  was  our  best  record,  and 
I  naturally  had  a  relapse  and  am  now  a  bran-new 
wreck,  with  new  aches  and  pains,  different  kinds, 
with  different  drugs.  Still,  my  new  cook-stove  is  the 
pride  and  glory  of  Matunuck.  It  has  a  sort  of  altar- 
piece  on  which  Loisa  hangs  votive  offerings  to  Pros- 
erpine (I  suppose)  in  the  way  of  the  coffee-pot  and 
fried  potatoes  ready  to  eat.  And  we  've  had  a  great 
circus  and  cleaned  out  the  cellar.  You  can't  dream 
what  it  is  to  be  purged  of  your  cellar.  Cartloads  of 
rubbish  carried  off,  and  my  hind-lawn,  so  to  speak, 
now  resembles  the  scene  of  a  collision,  with  smashed- 


BOSTON,   NEW  YORK,   CALIFORNIA     371 

up  locomotives  lying  bleeding,  being  the  remains  of 
an  absurd  furnace  the  Hales  had  in  Palseozoic  Ages. 
A  man  is  coming  to  lay  a  new  cellar  floor.  Mean- 
while I  am  taking  myself  off  (as  per  contract),  this 
P.M.  for  the  "'Dike,"  Mrs.  Glover  and  George's 
luncheon.  I  feel  exactly  like  not  doing  this,  but  "  I 
dare  say  I  shall  have  a  good  time." 

The  country  is  looking  just  as  I  wanted  it  to  look 
before,  —  just  as  I  am  leaving  it,  —  and  when  I 
come  back  Saturday  the  maples  will  be  out  and 
turned  sere.  Don't  you  know  Theo.  Brown  used  to 
say  "  fall  had  come "  when  the  first  crocus  faded  ? 
But  don't  let  me  be  so  gloomy.  I  cease. 

Yours, 
SUSAN. 


CHAPTER  XI 
JAMAICA,  MATUNUCK,  EGYPT 

(1902-1905) 

To  MBS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 
OFF  BALTIMORE,  November  22,  1902. 
(I  mean,  nM  at  sea  but  nephew  Arthur's.} 

.  .  .  Meanwhile,  it's  lovely  here,  and  mild  as 
summer,  and  it  seems  foolish  to  go  anywhere.  You 
know  the  Arthurs  are  living  in  a  long  low  southern 
house  with  southern  exposure.  The  sun  streams  in 
through  glass  doors,  and  outside  are  broad  fields  of 
winter  wheat,  so  bright  green,  'pon  my  word,  they 
remind  me  of  sugar-canes  at  Cuernavaca  and  the 
wooded  hill  beyond  suggests  Popo  and  Ixtax,  that  is 
to  say,  enveloped  in  clouds.  We  have  great  big  chim- 
neys and  huge  logs  to  burn,  but  scarcely  want  them. 
But  I  sort  of  want  to  get  somewhere,  having  been 
running  round  in  and  out  of  my  trunk  since  Octo- 
ber 19.  It  was  delightful  at  Olana,  under  the  new 
regime  of  Mrs.  Louis  Church ;  —  very  pleasant  at 
Schenectady,  with  my  descendants  Maurice,  Nathan 
and  Tom ;  amusing  as  ever  at  Hartford.  I  saw  Mrs. 
Charles  Warner  by  the  way. 

I  spent  a  night  at  Manhattan  coming  here.  Ye 
gods !  what  a  place  New  York  is  at  present.  I  am 
sure  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  were  plain  sailing  by 
contrast.  Great  chasms  at  your  feet,  gallows  over 
head,  explosions  saying,  "  Boong,"  to  make  you  jump 
every  other  minute,  smells,  smokes,  lightnings.  That 


JAMAICA,   MATUNUCK,   EGYPT     373 

piece-of-cheese  building  on  Madison  Square  in  the 
angle  of  Broadway  and  Fifth  Avenue  is  the  most 
alarming  thing  I  ever  saw,  twenty  storeys  high,  and 
thin  as  a  wedge.  Any  slight  seismatic  disturbance 
might  send  the  whole  wedge  flat  on  its  stomach  in 
the  middle  of  Madison  Square. 

A  Branch  of  the  Corps  Diplomatic 
Being  thrown  to  the  floor  from  his  attic, 

When  he  did  see  his  mat, 

Exclaimed,  "What  is  that?" 
They  replied,  "  JT  is  a  Shock  Seismatic." 


To  Miss  CAROLINE  P.  ATKINSON 

5  P.M.     80°. 

PORT  ANTONIO,  JAMAICA,  Sunday, 
December  14,  1902. 

DEAR  CARLA,  —  I  must  get  my  pen  and  things  and 
begin  to  write  you  from  my  top  veranda,  I  love  it 
so  much.  You  have  been  in  my  mind  all  the  after- 
noon, but  I  have  been  dawdling  in  my  room,  and  just 
emerged  in  my  thinnest  white  waist  and  silk  stock- 
ings. You  know  it 's  a  great  deal  hotter  all  the  time 
than  it  ever  is  at  Matunuck.  I  just  love  it,  and  I 
think  I  shall  thrive  on  it,  though  it  is  enervating  and 
makes  me  lazy.  But  I  hope  it  will  dry  out  my  throat 
and  catarrh  and  all  my  diseases;  anyhow  it's  deli- 
cious, so  why  not  be  lazy ! 

Do  you  see  this  point  behind  the  ship  (which  is 
always  there  for  some  reason)  ?  Well,  we  can  row 
out  from  these  boat-houses  down  here,  and  go  round 
that  point  to  the  open  sea,  and  there  in  the  channel 
little  bathing-houses  stand  up  on  legs  out  of  the  ocean 
with  steps  down,  and  we  can  go  swimming  in  rather 
shallow  water  on  a  white  sand  floor.  This  side  of  the 
point  is  the  channel  through  which  all  ships  arrive, 


374   LETTERS  OP  SUSAN  HALE 

amongst  others  Us,  and  as  we  came  sailing  in  last 
Monday,  just  after  sunrise,  we  came  past  this  lovely 
lawn  with  the  boat-houses,  cocoanut  palms,  mango 
trees,  grass  to  the  water's  edge,  with  a  little  brook 
rippling  down  to  the  sea,  all  sparkling  with  ferns, 
and  lo!  it  all  belongs  to  the  Hotel  Tichfield,  where 
I  am  still  staying.  I  became  so  enamoured  of  it 
from  the  first  glance  that  I  didn't  want  to  go  any- 
where else;  and  as  I  like  it  more  and  more,  my 
present  plan  is  to  stop  right  here  until  after  Christ- 
mas, before  seeing  any  more  places ;  you  see  I  have 
lots  of  time  to  put  in  before  April.  I  am,  so  to  speak, 
alone,  but  people  are  raised  up  to  me  all  the  time. 

I  went  to  church  to-day  with  Hopkins  of  the 
United  Fruit  Company,  to  hear  Rev.  F.  B.  Myers 
of  England  address  the  Methodists ;  they  are  darkies 
all,  and  it  was  extremely  interesting.  He  is  a  hand- 
some man,  about  sixty,  I  should  think,  and  he 
(wisely)  spoke  in  a  dramatic  sort  of  high-coloured 
way  to  touch  their  emotions.  He  has  beautiful  hands, 
and  used  them  a  great  deal.  It  was  a  sort  of  passion- 
ate glowing  description  of  the  Christ  as  the  Saviour 
of  men;  his  words  were  beautiful  and  moving.  To 
tell  the  truth,  I  did  n't  think  he  affected  his  audience 
anything  much.  Perhaps  I  am  wrong.  They  were 
splendid-looking,  well-to-do  "nagurs,"  mostly  girls, 
dressed  in  the  latest  style,  pink  shirt-waists,  sailor 
hats,  white  kid  gloves!  (I  had  mine  in  my  hand,  so 
hot.)  The  young  men  in  Tuxedos,  four-in-hands, 
panamas.  The  singing  was  fine,  a  yang-yang  played 
by  a  coloured  lady,  and  a  choir  up  in  the  loft,  of  a 
dozen  girls;  but  the  whole  congregation  sang  (our 
familiar  tunes)  and  none  hit  a  wrong  note,  the  young 
men  joining,  even  leading,  with  fine  voices  and  good 
enunciation. 

It 's  suddenly  pitch  dark  (no  twilight)  and  I  must 
stop. 


JAMAICA,   MATUNUCK,   EGYPT     375 

Monday  morning. 

Good  morning,  dear  Carlo.  Now  I  want  to  tell 
you  about  these  nights1,  they  are  kind  of  uncanny, 
so  hot,  windows  wide  open,  door  open,  with  a  slat- 
door  hooked.  There  are  no  outside  blinds  or  shades 
to  darken  this  big  window,  only  these  fluffy  white 
figured  muslin  curtains,  very  fresh  and  clean,  put 
up  the  day  I  came,  and  there  is  never  a  speck  of 
dust  anywhere  in  the  house.  So  when  I  get  into 
bed  (80°),  I  lie  and  look  out  on  the  lovely  opal  sky; 
the  moon  is  full  now,  and  it 's  almost  light  out  there. 
Through  one  half -window,  the  branches  of  a  sort  of 
cedar  tree  sway  and  wave,  in  the  slight  breeze.  Out 
of  the  other  I  see  the  ocean,  the  lighthouse  with  a 
red  lantern,  and  tops  of  waving  cocoanut-palms.  My 
curtains  float  in  the  wind;  it  is  still,  stiller  than 
Matunuck,  with  those  deep  caves  of  opal  and  mother- 
of-pearl  out  there  in  the  sky.  Ain't  it  kind  of  weird  ? 
Well,  towards  dawn  last  night  I  woke  up  and  a  gale 
was  blowing;  all  my  curtains  on  the  loose,  and  a 
pouring  rain  rattling  down.  It  can't  rain  in,  for 
there  are  eyebrows  of  corrugated  iron  over  every  win- 
dow. I  flew  out  of  bed,  shut  my  windows,  shut  my 
door,  —  (it  had  gone  down  to  76°) — drew  my 
(single)  sheet  around  me  and  went  to  sleep.  At  six- 
thirty,  when  I  woke  again,  the  rain  was  over,  the  sky 
was.  coppery  with  the  sun  just  coming  along  out  of 
the  sea.  I  jumped  up  and  went  for  my  bath,  most 
refreshing  after  rather  enervating  nights. 

It  is  beautiful  now,  great  surf  rolling  over  the  bar. 
There  are  no  flies,  no  mosquitoes,  no  occasion  for 
nettings  or  screens,  all  doors  and  windows  stand  open. 
These  deep  verandas  are  sheltered  alike  from  sun  and 
rain.  It  rains  a  dozen  times  a  day,  and  makes  the 
green  lawn  sparkle.  Unlike  California  and  Mexico 
there  is  grass  everywhere,  —  no  dust,  for  even  the 
little  town  has  a  good  road  through  it,  and  besides 


376    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

it 's  always  muddy.  It  is  said  that  the  mongoose  has 
destroyed  all  vermin,  snakes,  and  things  (incident- 
ally all  the  song-birds)  ;  anyhow  the  absolutely  only 
thing  of  the  sort  I  have  seen  was  a  Person,  a  most 
highly  respectable  sort  of  beetle,  with  a  pink-and- 
green  pattern  worked  down  his  back  in  cross-stitch. 
By  the  way,  I  am  playing  with  my  embroidery  linens 
and  have  made  some  very  pretty  cloths  for  my  brush 
basket,  etc. 

Oh !  it 's  lovely  on  my  veranda  this  morning.  The 
hills  so  thick  with  foliage  and  the  water  peacock- 
tinted.  Do  write  to  this  hotel,  as  on  the  envelope. 
I  am  sure  it  will  reach,  me,  as  I  stay  here  over 
Christmas. 

LOVING  SUSAN. 

To  MRS.  WILLIAM  B.  WEEDEN 

JAMAICA,  December  %8,  1902. 
...  As  everyone  tells  you,  the  feature  of  Jamaica 
is  its  marvellous  growth  of  verdure,  beyond  all  the 
other  tropics,  I  believe;  surely  beyond  any  I  have 
seen.  Don't  you  know  California,  etc.,  are  disap- 
pointing from  lack  of  grass,  —  waste  places  wherever 
there  is  nothing  planted?  Well,  here  something 
growalike  mad  everywhere ;  close  down  to  the  water's 
edge,  even  the  ocean  surf  breaks  upon  ferns  and  vines, 
dipping  and  sparkling  in  the  wet  We  are  on  a  sort 
of  channel  made  by  an  island  that  breaks  the  wind 
and  surf,  but  my  veranda  overlooks  the  open  sea 
beyond.  That  point  of  the  island  reminds  me  of 
our  point  this  side  of  Julius  Landing;  it  is  covered 
with  trees  to  the  water's  edge,  that  sort  of  look  like 
our  trees,  only  they  are  mangoes  and  cocoanut-palms 
and  breadfruit  and  mimosa  trees.  .  .  . 

YOUR  LOVING  SUSAN. 


JAMAICA,   MATUNUCK,   EGYPT     377 

To  GEORGE  L.  CLARKE 

FALMOUTH,  JAMAICA,  January  81,  1903. 

DEAR  GEORGE, —  .  .  .  My  letters  came  just  as  I 
was  leaving  Browns  Town  for  good,  so  I  poked  them 
into  my  bag  and  just  nibbled  at  them  on  my  drive, 
which  was  twenty-two  miles  in  a  buggy  through  lovely 
country,  sort  of  like  Chocorua,  down  gradually  to 
sea-level;  it  was  delightful  after  three  weeks  in  a 
bowl  amongst  mountains,  to  come  out  on  the  lovely 
Caribbean.  It  is  much  hotter  than  up  there,  but  I 
love  it.  I  am  stopping  over  night  at  "  Mrs.  Jacobs' 
Lodging,"  a  funny  place,  not  exactly  like  the  Man- 
hattan, but  it  does  very  well,  and  I  won't  stop  to 
describe  it. 

I  received  much  attention  from  the  worthies  of 
Browns  Town,  and,  I  am  assured  by  the  landlady, 
"entirely  captivated  the  whole  place."  You  should 
have  seen  my  triumphal  exit  from  the  town  in  an 
open  carriage  with  two  horses,  trunk  behind,  small 
box  and  rug-strap  in  front,  receiving  the  homage  of 
the  population,  all  the  (dark)  inhabitants  crowding 
their  doorways  to  wave  a  good-bye.  Roosevelt  is 
nowhere. 

On  Tuesday  my  chief  admirer,  Dr.  Miller  (a 
worthy  man,  sort  of  like  Governor  Weeden  for  age 
and  build),  drove  me  to  a  reception  at  Judge  Reece's 
pen,  where  we  had  tea  on  the  barbecue.  These  are 
Jamaica  words.  Pen  means  a  great  estate,  and  a 
"  barbecue  "  is  a  huge  stone  platform  where  they  dry 
pimento,  coffee,  chocolate,  etc.  It  serves  as  a  great 
ball-room,  a  piazza  for  tennis,  shuffle-board,  anything, 
as  the  climate  demands  no  awning  nor  roof.  We  just 
sate  there  in  easy-chairs  watching  the  lovely  sky, 
orange  trees  bearing  fruit,  cocoanut-palms  the  same, 
and  all  this  wonderful  tropic  vegetation.  The  Reeces 
are  just  as  nice  as  we  are,  —  of  Scotch  descent.  He 


378        LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

is  the  leading  Judge  of  Jamaica.  I  'm  in  love  with 
them.  The  house  is  a  huge  stone  building  with  slits 
in  the  cellar  where  the  blacks  used  to  be  chained  in 
slavery  days.  .  .  . 

YOUE  LOVING  SUSAN. 


To  MBS.  WILLIAM  B.  WEEDEN 

MALVERN,  2200  feet  altitude.    76°. 
Thursday  A.M.,  February  19,  1903. 

MY  DEAR  JEANIE,  —  It  is  positively  wicked  to 
neglect  so  long  writing  you.  Fact  is  I  am  swamped 
with  correspondence,  chiefly  family,  and,  when  I  am 
going  about  I  have  no  time  to  write,  —  but  volumes 
to  tell  you  of  the  delights  of  Jamaica.  Last  evening, 
I  got  a  letter  from  Jim,  and  one  from  Mrs.  Joe 
Browning,  and  these  spur  me  to  take  the  pen,  to  tell 
you,  first,  that  I  think  of  you  very  often,  and  of 
Matunuck  constantly,  and  am  full  of  tearing  good 
spirits  to  think  that  I  am  so  well  and  strong,  and  get- 
ting ready  for  a  fine  summer  with  us  all  together. 

This  place  might  be  called  the  "Brownings  of 
Jamaica,"  for  it's  an  immense  farm  conducted  some- 
what on  the  Robert  Browning  plan.  It 's  an  old  de- 
cayed coffee  plantation  or  "  pen  "  as  they  are  called, 
with  a  huge  barbecue  one  hundred  feet  square.  The 
Great  House,  our  lodgings,  is  a  beautiful  place, 
offices,  etc.,  on  the  ground-floor,  and  the  floor  above, 
the  only  one  occupied,  with  a  huge  salon  and  dining- 
room  adjoining,  mahogany  folding  doors,  mahogany 
floors,  mahogany  beds  in  the  (rather  cramped)  bed- 
rooms opening  on  these  big  rooms.  These  (all  over 
Jamaica)  extend  up  to  the  roof;  rafters  and  all 
showing,  in  this  case  white-washed,  and  scrupulously 
clean.  (  There  is  no  dust  in  Jamaica,  no  flies,  no  cob- 
web visible;  besides,  dark  ladies  on  all  fours  are  al- 


JAMAICA,   MATUNUCK,   EGYPT     379 

ways  scrubbing  the  floors  with  oranges  cut  up  in 
water,  and  rubbing  them  down  with  half-cocoanut- 
husks.) 

Scattered  about  the  Great  House  are  outhouses 
(like  Browning's  barns,  etc.),  only  of  stone  founda- 
tions, and  thatched  roofs,  that  is,  shingle,  so  old  and 
shaky  that  it  resembles  thatch.  Our  kitchen  is  one 
of  these  houses  —  about  as  far  as  the  boat-house  — 
no, — but  twice  as  far  as  the  dog-house  —  from  our 
dining-room.  There's  no  chimney  to  the  kitchen, 
and  all  the  smoke  comes  out  of  the  door,  —  there 's 
always  a  pig  in  the  doorway.  He  don't  go  into  the 
kitchen  because  there's  a  board  put  up  to  keep  him 
out.  Cooks  and  other  folks  step  over  the  board  when 
they  have  to  go  in.  Mules,  horses,  cows,  pigs,  dogs, 
cats,  chickens,  guinea-hens,  little  darkies  are  all  loose 
around  the  place.  It  never  rains  to  speak  of  you 
know.  Great  masses  of  bougainvillaeas,  poinsettia  in 
blossom,  orange  trees  bearing  both  blossom  and  fruit, 
cocoanut-palms,  bananas,  mango  trees  in  full  bloom, 
rose-pink  oleanders!  are  all  scattered  about  on  this 
wide  plateau,  whence  we  look  off  over  rolling  country 
far  below  us,  forests,  roads,  little  towns,  with  cloud 
shadows  and  patches  of  sunlight  on  them,  and  then 
beyond,  towards  the  west  —  the  high  horizon  —  the 
sea!  sometimes  pearl-colour,  sometimes  sparkling 
with  sunshine,  sometimes  all  peacock  tints.  The  sun 
sets  there  gloriously  every  evening  at  six-thirty,  and 
rises  at  six-thirty  in  at  my  east  window,  a  burst  of 
golden  glory.  iSTow  don't  that  sound  pretty  nice? 
This  fine  estate  (seven  hundred  and  fifty  acres)  now 
belongs  to  Mrs.  Lawrence,  a  little  dried-up  old  lady 
of  my  age,  Scotch  (mixed  with  a  touch  of  Jamaica), 
who  runs  the  lodging  (two  guineas  a  week).  The 
food  is  fairly  good,  fresh  fish  brought  up  on  some- 
body's head  from  Alligator  Cove,  thirteen  miles  be- 
low, chicken  excellent,  etc.  But  why  speak  of  food ! 


380        LETTEES   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

Wait  till  I  strike  a  porterhouse  steak  at  Manhattan. 
The  fruits  are  wonderful  and  some  of  them  excellent. 
The  "Ripley  Pine,"  a  thing  unknown  in  the  north 
and  holding  no  resemblance  to  the  pineapple  of  com- 
merce there.  There  is  no  one  here  at  present  but 
some  nice  well-bred  Canadians.  There  was  a  lovely 
young  Englishman  I  lost  my  heart  to,  but  he 's  gone. 
I  have  now  seen  a  fair  proportion  of  the  different 
Jamaica  places,  driving  about  in  a  buggy  with  trunk 
behind  and  "  the  Angel "  in  front.  It 's  rapturous ; 
I  am  never  more  happy  than  when  I  start  off  for  a 
thirty-  or  forty-mile  trip.  It  costs  a  good  deal  (one 
shilling  per  mile),  but  it's  the  only  way  to  see  the 
Island.  Beginning  at  Port  Antonio,  and  at  last 
reaching  this  place,  I  am  sure  that  these  two  are  the 
most  beautiful  spots  on  the  island  —  the  lowest  and 
the  highest  altitude !  though  other  ones  are  beautiful, 
and  my  real  passion  is  swimming  in  the  Caribbean. 
I  have  met  constant  hospitality  and  several  delightful 
people.  ...  Be  forgiving  and  write  your 

SUSAN. 

To  Miss  ELLEN  DAY  HALE 

MY  REFUGE,  February  25,  1903. 
DEAR  NELLY,  —  ...  These  you  see  are  my  simple 
joys;  —  the  chief  of  them  is  my  glorious  sunsets 
from  the  corner  of  my  veranda  —  every  night  beau- 
tiful. They  have  a  strange  kind  of  cloud  here  that 
comes  up  between  the  sky  and  me,  entirely  separate, 
I  suppose  very  low.  It  is  black,  black  as  smoke  from 
a  soft-coal  chimney,  and  pours  up  the  sky  like  smoke, 
then  gets  torn  and  jagged  in  great  weird  forms  like 
those  Chinese  demons  on  Japanese  kakimonos,  don't 
you  know?  It  makes  me  think  no  wonder  these 
blacks  are  superstitious  when  they  see  such  frightful 
forms  in  the  sky.  Nothing  comes  of  it,  the  black 


JAMAICA,   MATUNUCK,   EGYPT     381 

masses  tear  themselves  to  pieces  and  settle  down  to 
looking  like  alligators  and  other  long,  flat  things, 
quite  harmless.  The  stars  come  out  and  I  go  over  to 
dinner.  .  .  . 

YOUB  HAPPY  SUSAN. 


To  Miss  MARY  E.  WILLIAMS 
BROWNS  TOWN,  JAMAICA,  March  17, 1903. 

DEAR  MOIMITCH,  —  ...  Jamaica  has  kept  on 
being  just  as  delightful.  The  climate  suits  me  abso- 
lutely. My  passion  is  driving  about  in  a  buggy  with 
all  my  pots  and  pans  about  me.  I  am  just  off  the 
crowning  trip  of  all,  —  more  than  one  hundred  miles, 
four  days  through  beautiful  and  unusual  country; 
that  called  the  "  Cock  Pit  Country "  so  snarly  with 
hills  and  crags,  ravines,  swamps,  waterfalls,  preci- 
pices, that  a  few  roads  have  been  but  lately  wriggled 
through. 

We  started  early  in  the  mornings,  David  and  me 
and  the  two  mules,  and  had  only  coffee  and  bread 
(Jamaica  butter  is  nasty).  Somewhere  on  the  road 
I  got  the  habit  of  buying  six  eggs  from  any  old  lady 
we  met,  and  while  we  were  changing  horses  at  the 
next  place,  consisting  generally  of  a  fork  in  the  road 
with  a  house  or  two,  I  would  get  the  eggs  boiled,  and 
a  little  salt  done  up  in  a  rag,  and  some  bread.  At 
Tombstone  a  man  gave  me  six  bananas,  none  for  sale, 
but  the  country  full  of  them.  That  day  David  and 
I  cracked  our  eggs  on  rocks,  sitting  above  a  beautiful 
turquoise  waterfall,  by  the  side  of  a  river,  that  went 
brawling  along  with  great  tropical  trees  overhanging 
the  stream,  hung  with  elephant' s-ears  (  a  twisting  vine  ) , 
and  great  cords  hanging  down,  and  gobs  of  orchids. 
At  noon  very  likely  we  found  some  place  with  a  bed, 
and  perhaps  a  cup  of  tea,  where  I  rested,  while  David 


382    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

took  out  the  horses  (changed  from  mules  at  Tomb- 
stone), but  nothing  much  to  eat  till  lodgings  at  night, 
and  then  we  drove  on  again  over  great  mountain-tops 
with  views  of  glorious  rolling  country  and  away  — 
away,  the  sea!  So  finally  about  sunset  Wednesday 
we  came  rolling  down  through  beautiful  arcades  of 
bamboo,  and  roads  hedged  with  scarlet  hibiscus,  to 
Christiana,  where  Dan,  with  his  buggy,  was  waiting ; 
Dan,  the  Browns  Town  driver,  who  took  me  hence, 
two  months  ago  to  Falmouth  and  Montego  Bay.  So 
that  night  I  slept  secure  in  the  keeping  of  two 
"  coachmans  "  and  four  horses  out  to  pasture,  in  Miss 
Mullin's  excellent  lodgings,  —  my  door  open  on  an 
up-stairs  veranda  (there  was  no  window)  ;  outside, 
the  full  moon  gleaming  on  a  forest  of  banana  fronds 
that  shone  and  rustled  in  a  soft  breeze  (only  a  sheet, 
mind  you!).  In  the  morning  I  had  coffee  (after  a 
bath  in  a  big  tub),  and  when  I  made  a  face  at  con- 
densed milk,  a  small,  dark  child  rushed  into  a  coffee 
thicket  and  apparently  caught  and  milked  a  wild  cow, 
for  she  came  back  with  a  pailful  (boiled).  Next  day 
Dan  brought  me  here  thirty  miles.  The  whole  vil- 
lage came  out  to  greet  my  return.  It 's  a  dear  little 
place  and  besides,  a  convenient  gite  on  this  tour 
which  was  planned  for  me  by  experts.  I  am  resting 
here,  for  my  race  is  nearly  run  in  Jamaica.  On 
Thursday  I  drive  thirty  miles,  then  by  train  from 
Ewarton  to  Spanish  Town,  thence  rail  to  Kingston, 
thence  drive  across  the  Island  to  Annotto  Bay,  and 
finally  Port  Antonio,  where  I  want  to  stop  a  while 
before  sailing  for  home.  Probably  I  shall  take  Wat- 
son, the  S.  S.  I  came  in  from  Philadelphia,  April  14, 
but  things  nautical  in  Jamaica  are  so  uncertain;  it 
may  not  be  Watson,  and  it  may  not  be  Philadelphia, 
and  it  may  not  be  the  fourteenth.  Anyhow  it  will  be 
Arthur's,  Baltimore,  by  April  20,  or  thereabouts; 
and  I  want  to  open  the  Matunuck  House  May  1. 


JAMAICA,   MATUNUCK,   EGYPT     383 

I  want  to  go  there,  shed  ray  trunk,  —  my  winter 
clothes  are  smashed  to  an  unused  pulp  at  the  bottom 
of  it,  and  my  summer  clothes  are  in  rags.  Then  I 
want  to  come  to  Thorndike  to  refit,  and  press  all  your 
hands  and  have  you  see  me  with  my  fine  Jamaica 
bloom  on  me.  The  dust,  and  eke  the  water  here,  are 
so  red  that  my  skin  is  also,  and  my  hair  a  delicate 
auburn. 

All  of  which,  dear,  if  all  goes  well,  will  soon  be 
happening.  I  have  had  a  lovely  winter,  but  begin  to 
hanker  for  "  folks,"  and  I  'm  always  your  loving 

SUSAN. 


To  Miss  MARY  B.  DINSMOOR 

SPANISH  TOWN,  8  A.M., 
Sunday,  March  %%,  1903. 

DEAR  MARY,  —  Half-sheets  are  very,  very  low  in- 
deed as  it  says  in  "  Katinka,"  in  fact,  everything  is 
on  the  wane,  my  course  is  run,  I  am  on  the  hdme- 
track.  Sweet  Jamaica  does  not  pall;  on  the  con- 
trary, I  keep  thinking  what  I  shall  do  next  time 
when  I  come,  but  probably  I  shan't.  We  '11  see. 

But  I  must  "  write  to  "  your  last,  the  prompt  one. 
My  other  March  11  letters  turned  up  here  three 
days  later!  Oh,  yes!  about  the  old  people.  Yours 
called  up  all  visions  of  my  mother,  your  Aunt  Mary, 
dear  Mrs.  Anna  Greene,  —  how  terribly  we  miss 
them  out  of*  our  lives !  How  can  we  know  how  to 
behave!  We  couldn't  if  we  didn't  remember- them. 
It  "s  a  great  loss,  I  tell  you,  for  these  young  people  to 
break  away  from  their  trellises  so  to  speak,  their 
props,  so  early  in  the  business.  I  might  say  to  aban- 
don their  props  before  they  know  what 's  proper,  but 
the  subject  is  too  serious  for  jest.  Of  course  I  miss 
my  old  gentlemen  also  beyond  words.  But  think  of 


384    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

Mrs.  Ticknor,  fine  old  figure-head,  and  don't  you  re- 
member the  real  Aunt  Lucretia,  dear  little  old  lady 
in  a  cap,  with  a  nice  laugh.  The  fact  is  we  are  none 
of  us  worthy  to  succeed  them.  You  see,  Mary,  I  shall 
be  sixty-nine  next  time ;  and  my  mother  was  seventy- 
one  when  she  died,  so  that  we  chiefly  remember  her 
as  a  younger  woman  than  I  am  now.  Ain't  it  incredi- 
ble !  Well,  the  only  thing  is  we  have  to  hang  round, 
and  we  must  do  the  best  we  can.  She  certainly 
would  not  have  thought  favourably  of  spending  six 
months  in  Jamaica  driving  round  alone  in  a  buggy 
with  a  coloured  gentleman.  But  what  a  good  time 
she  had  in  her  rocking-chair  with  us  all  circling 
about  her,  and  Dr.  Lothrop  in  the  evenings.  Let's 
see,  she  was  about  fifty-nine  then !  .  .  . 


To  REV.  EDWAED  EVERETT  HALE 

45  EAST  STKEET,  KINGSTON,  JAMAICA,  8  A.  M., 

March  27,  1903.    78° 

DEAR  EDWAED,  —  .  .  .  So  here  I  am  at  Kingston, 
enfin,  having  put  it  off  till  the  last,  as  a  place  well 
abused  by  all  tourists,  —  I  really  rather  expect  to 
like  it.  It  is  blazing  hot,  and  the  air  is  lifeless, 
there's  an  electric  trolley  shooting  past  the  house, 
which  is  in  one  of  the  principal  streets.  But  why 
say  "  shooting,"  when  it  goes  by  about  once  an  hour 
at  a  stealthy  funereal  pace.  Two  darks  are  lying  on 
their  back  on  the  sunny  curbstone  opposite,  and  that 
is  all  the  passing  I  have  seen  since  six  when  I  rose. 
My  window  is  east  for  the  first  time  in  Jamaica,  and 
I  saw  a  lovely  dawn  with  Venus  and  sweet  little 
brand-new  moon  just  trembling  with  being  about. 
The  sky  was  glorious  at  Spanish  Town ;  the  night  be- 
fore, I  was  out  in  my  night  gown  and  running  about 
the  (silent)  corridors  finding  things  —  Mars  was 


JAMAICA,   MATUNUCK,   EGYPT     385 

overhead,  a  great  cup  of  red  molten  gold,  all  ready  to 
slop  over  at  any  moment;  Scorpio  sprawling  in  the 
middle  of  the  southern  sky,  with  the  Sabre  next  him. 
The  Southern  Cross  upright  with  its  pointers,  and  a 
kind  of  work-bench,  which  I  believe  to  be  Corvus, 
conspicuous  in  the  S.  E.  But  you  never  once  speak 
of  my  stars.  I  'm  afraid  they  bore  you.  Orion  is 
no  finer  than  at  home,  and  I  think  our  winter  ones 
may  be  as  good,  only  you  can't  go  out  (in  March)  in 
your  night  gown  to  study  them.  .  .  .  Much  love 
from 

SUSIE. 

To  Miss  ELLEN  DAY  HALE 

KED  ROOM,  8  A.M.,  MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND, 

October  26,  1903. 

DEAR  NELLY,  —  I  think  so  much  and  often  of  writ- 
ing to  you  that  I  thought  I  had;  and  was  surprised 
to  find  you  were  not  on  the  list  of  the  accomplished. 
You  must  know  I  wanted  you  here  for  these  last 
days  of  the  season,  but  I  abandoned  that  when  I  heard 
of  the  Simeon  plan,  and  did  n't  even  tell  you  I  wanted 
you.  Perhaps  it 's  just  as  well,  for  the  weather  has 
been  very  capricious,  but  when  it  is  lovely  it  is  so 
lovely;  I  have  never  enjoyed  an  autumn  so  much, 
I  mean  as  to  my  situation,  which  has  been  just  to  my 
mind.  This  morning,  for  instance,  at  sunrise,  ten 
minutes  past  six,  I  flew  out  of  bed,  ran  down  to  open 
the  front  door  and  look  at  the  thermometer.  It  was 
40°,  with  a  great  big  sun  so  far  south  it  was  soon 
slanting  in  to  the  red  room  even  to  the  fireplace,  so 
I  had  my  breakfast  in  the  doorway.  You  see  the  sun 
runs  so  low  now,  and  so  south,  that  it  shines  in  under 
the  roof  of  the  front  porch  almost  all  day  long  (when 
it  shines).  But  when  it  don't  shine,  —  and  it's  just 
gone  behind  great  clouds  and  a  wind  come  up,  —  I 


386    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

have  to  shut  the  front  door,  pile  on  the  logs,  and  stop 
writing  from  time  to  time  to  warm  my  back  against 
the  blaze.  You  have  experienced  these  things  with 
me  before.  Loisy  is  very  amenable.  You  see  the 
prolonged  absence  of  her  spouse  Albert  (in  another 
world),  makes  her  feel  really  as  if  this  was  home 
more  than  anywhere  else.  She  putters  round  in  the 
kitchen,  does  our  simple  wash,  cooks  delicious  things, 
sews  on  her  clothes,  such  as  putting  white-cotton 
heels  into  my  cast-off  black-silk  stockings,  and  after 
dinner  goes  up  and  dresses  splendidly  in  her  black 
gown  and  big  white  apron  I  gave  her,  to  be  ready 
for  afternoon-tea.  Yesterday  when  I  heard  her  soft, 
stealthy  tread  on  the  top-stairs,  I  called  out,  "  That 
you,  Loisy  ?  have  you  had  a  nap  ? "  "  No  !  "  said  she, 
"  I  was  taking  a  bath'."  This  is  the  more  creditable 
seeing  that  the  ram  is  dead,  you  know,  the  tank 
empty,  and  all  the  water  we  use  hauled  up-stairs  by 
herself.  That  force-pump  of  Papa's  lifts  the  water 
to  tubs  and  pails  front  of  the  kitchen  door  by  Father 
Browning-power,  but  he  .will  go  no  further.  It  is 
really  too  arduous  to  pump  it  up  to  the  tank.  I  have 
got  witch-Hazel  in  the  front  window,  with  the  sun 
shining  through  its  yellow  shreds ;  in  the  corner 
great  chunks  of  nasturtium  cut  near  the  ground  by 
Polly,  and  stuck  deep  into  my  yellow  bowl,  grow  and 
blossom  just  like  outdoors.  It's  quite  wonderful. 
The  shoots  put  out  new  leaves  and  buds  in  the  house, 
and  act  perfectly  contented.  Weedens  are  still  here, 
they  never  stayed  so  late,  and  "  Little  Governor  "  was 
swimming  in  the  surf  last.  Wednesday.  Jeanie  is 
very  nice,  almost  always  she  comes  to  p.  M.  tea,  and 
we  sit  chatting  before  my  fire  till  it  grows  so  dark  she 
can't  see  me  talk.  Then  I  light  the  candles  and  Loisy 
brings  the  lamp, — but  soon  Jeanie  gathers  up 
Barry,  the  big  dog,  and  bustles,  off*  in  the  glowing, 
fading  light  of  the  west,  with  a  small  moon  above. 


JAMAICA,   MATUNUCK,   EGYPT     387 

Then  we  draw  the  window-shades,  Loisy  and  me,  in 
fact,  I  have  pulled  them  down  by  accident,  so  we  pin 
up  shawls,  I  read  my  newspapers  till  it's  time  for 
my  little  meal  on  the  little  P.  M.  tea-table,  of  cold 
breast  of  Cornelia  (I  mean  her  "faowls")  and  but- 
tered toast.  I  am  reading  millions  of  things,  new 
and  old,  but  go  to  bed  sedulously  at  eight  sharp. 
Loisy  is  reading  the  "  Peterkins " !  She  thinks  it 
splendid  about  the  salt  in  the  coffee,  but  I  fear  she 
takes  it  rather  seriously.  I  am  surprised  at  her 
prowess  in  reading.  It  is  painful,  but  sure.  I  started 
her  first  on  the  "  Call  of  the  Wild,"  which  is  splen- 
did—  all  about  a  dog,  you  know,  —  and  she  passed 
examination  upon  it  with  comments  far  more  intel- 
ligent than  those  of  my  late  guest,  Mrs. .  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSAN. 

To  MBS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

7  A.M.     72°. 
SUSAN'S  ROOST,  MALVERN,  February  %6, 1904. 

MY  DEAR  CAROLINE,  —  I  will  write  you  about  my 
glorious  two  days'  drive  to  this  place  before  I  forget 
about  it.  I  always  think  of  you  as  I  am  driving 
along  in  my  buggy,  bolt  upright,  with  my  small  trunk 
strapped  on  behind,  the  Angel  sitting  up  in  front 
amongst  the  driver's  legs,  and  a  Jamaica  basket  by 
my  side,  containing  my  luncheon  and  a  few  oranges. 
My  only  wrap  is  my  light  fur-tippet,  and  I  sometimes 
travel  in  my  white  wrapper,  but  this  time  I  had  on 
my  black-and-white  foulard.  It  rained  occasionally, 
but  there  was  a  rug  in  the  carriage  to  put  over  my 
legs.  Dan  had  an  india-rubber  cover,  and  if  he  did 
get  wet  the  sun  came  out  and  dried  him  up. 

We  started  at  7  A.  M.  from  Browns  Town  and  drove 
forty-five  miles  that  day.  The  first  part  of  the  way 


388    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

I  went  up  the  Cave  Valley  road  along  the  side  of  a 
sort  of  Canyon,  winding  in  and  out,  quite  civilised, 
with  little  houses  dotted  along  on  the  heights,  and 
some  large  estates.  It  is  all  wooded,  you  know.  The 
sun  was  just  touching  the  hilltops  when  we  started, 
and  soon  came  into  our  road  and  made  ferns  and 
morning-glories,  wet  with  dew,  all  sparkle.  When  we 
got  to  Cave  Valley  it  was  still  early.  Strange  to  say, 
this  is  a  flat  plain  delivered  over  to  sugar-cane,  and 
there  is  a  sugar-mill  at  work  there,  and  people  cutting 
the  canes,  and  the  dead  stalks,  like  Indian  corn,  strew- 
ing the  ground.  I  asked  a  man,  and  he  gave  me  a 
long  stalk  of  sugar-cane  for  me  to  gnaw  the  end  of 
it.  It  is  rather  good,  almost  the  only  sweet  thing  in 
Jamaica  that  is  not  too  sweet 

At  Bowbridge  we  rested  the  horses  in  a  cluttery 
little  town  consisting  of  a  row  of  shops  with  no  fronts 
to  them.  I  bought  a  basket  off  a  woman's  head  that 
I  liked.  When  I  asked  her  if  she  would  sell  it,  she 
said,  "  No,  missy."  But  it  seems  she  had  nothing 
to  do  with  it,  for  her  mistress,  a  pretty  (dark)  lady 
in  white,  stepped  up  and  said,  "Oh,  yes,"  and  or- 
dered the  basket  off.  They  went  into  the  chief  de- 
partment store  of  the  place,  a  shed  with  one  shelf 
running  along  for  a  counter,  took  all  the  things  out 
of  the  basket,  yams,  I  guess,  and  gave  it  to  me  for 
a  shilling.  Thus  I  started  my  luncheon-basket.  I 
think  they  put  their  things  in  a  pannia  that  was  on 
the  side  of  a  donkey  thereabouts. 

Then  began  the  most  glorious  winding  about  in 
lofty  lanes  along  the  edge  of  mountain-tops,  looking 
off  over  deep  valleys  to  other  hills,  all  clothed,  you 
know,  with  masses  of  foliage.  This  was  Manchester, 
a  parish  in  the  middle  of  the  island  where  there  is, 
so  to  speak,  not  an  inch  of  level  ground.  There  are 
low  places  where  they  have  tucked  bananas,  but  often 
it  is  sheer  precipice  on  either  side  along  the  road, 


JAMAICA,   MATUNUCK,   EGYPT     389 

up  and  down.  The  mile-posts  kept  saying  so  many 
miles  to  Kendal,  but  I  wished  to  avoid  Kendal,  for 
there  it  is  railroad,  which  spoils  these  places,  too 
much  like  West  Newton,  so  we  turned  off  at  Spauld- 
ing  and  began  asking  the  way  to  Mile  Gully.  The 
post-mistress  said  to  go  a  road,  which  we  went.  A 
man  on  a  donkey  later  on  said  that  was  wrong.  The 
trouble  is  there  are  two  Mile  Gullys.  I  had  my  (very 
inadequate)  map,  and,  in  fact,  we  went  the  right 
way,  only  it  was  longer  than  my  keepers  had  prophe- 
sied in  Browns  Town,  and  by  the  time  we  came  to 
the  foot  of  an  awful  hill,  the  horses  were  pretty  tired. 
We  had  to  pay  a  boy  sixpence  to  take  them  by  the 
nose  and  persuade  them  up,  while  Dan  walked  by  the 
side,  applying  the  whip.  I  don't  say  the  lash,  be- 
cause that,  which  was  of  twine,  had  come  off.  Don't 
mention  this  to  "Cruelty  to  Animals,"  please.  It 
might  get  me  into  trouble.  In  general  the  darks  are 
very  considerate  of  their  beasts,  and  drive  gently, 
and  so  did  Dan.  At  the  top  of  the  hill  there  was  a 
church,  named  Bethany,  and,  oh!  the  most  glorious 
view  away  over  to  the  Santa  Cruz  mountains,  for 
we  had  climbed  the  ridge  and  left  the  Manchester 
bowl  behind.  But  here  darks  were  engaged  in  mend- 
ing this  same  dreadful  road,  which  went  ribboning 
down  before  us.  The  Chief  of  the  Menders  advanced, 
and  in  the  most  affable  manner  cried,  "  Welcome,  my 
dear  friends,  but  I  must  regret  that  you  chose  this 
moment,  for  you  must  see  that  we  are  engaged  in 
making  the  road  for  you."  He  is  a  retired  army 
officer,  very  English,  here  for  his  health,  with  only 
a  part  of  one  lung,  appointed  Superintendent  of 
Roads  for  that  parish  by  Government.  He  went  on, 
"  Your  friends,  the  Pickerings,  —  for  I  see  by  your 
fur-tippet  that  you  come  from  their  Boreal  Region 
—  think  this  the  most  perfect  part  of  Jamaica."  He 
knew  them  well.  You  know  they  came  here  two  or 


390   LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

three  years  ago  to  get  a  clear  atmosphere  for  inspect- 
ing Eros,  the  new  planet  which  is  nearer  the  sun  than 
anybody  else.  They  made  lots  of  friends  here,  and 
Mrs.  Pickering  was  very  popular.  I  believe  they 
were  delighted  with  the  island,  but  I  have  not  seen 
them  since.  We  asked  our  man,  who  was  named 
Garrett,  about  Mile  Gully,  and  he  said,  "You  are 
there,  you  are  there,"  waving  his  hand,  "but  look 
at  the  road."  We  did  look  at  it,  and  I  told  Dan  to 
go  ahead,  through  the  crowd  of  stone-pickers,  who 
were  making  it  worse  in  order  to  be  better.  At  the 
foot  of  the  long  hill  we  came  on  the  Police  Station 
we  had  been  told  to  look  out  for.  These  are  fine 
buildings,  placed  one  in  every  parish  by  Govern- 
ment. I  think  they  serve  as  jails,  and  that  the  police 
(all  darks),  when  they  meet  a  malefactor,  just  take 
him  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck  and  haul  him  into  the 
station  for  further  orders.  The  service  is  admirable 
all  over  the  island,  and  perfect  quiet  prevails. 

Now  you  must  know  that  our  Browns  Town  post- 
mistress had  written  to  Lyndhurst,  Mile  Gully,  to 
ask  Mrs.  Coke  to  take  us  in  at  her  lodging  for  that 
night.  Owing  to  the  manana  methods  of  the  tropics 
no  answer  came,  but  I  had  to  write  to  Malvern  to  tell 
these  people  here  to  meet  me  there,  which  I  had  done, 
when,  lo !  just  as  I  was  leaving  Browns  Town,  post- 
mistress got  a  telegram  saying  there  was  no  room  at 
Lyndhurst.  The  reason  for  the  delay  was  that  Ash 
Wednesday  being  a  holiday,  all  post-offices  were  shut, 
and  all  telegrams  only  go  from  and  to  post-offices, 
which  is  why  it  took  a  week  for  my  message  to  go 
forty-five  miles.  I  left  a  telegram  and  a  shilling  to 
Mrs.  Coke,  to  say,  "Miss  Hale  has  started.  Please 
find  lodgings  near  you,"  or  words  to  that  effect.  You 
can  imagine  I  felt  rather  goose-flesh  on  approaching 
her  gates.  However,  we  drove  on  inquiring  for  Lynd- 
hurst It  was  a  good  five  miles  from  our  man,  who 


JAMAICA,   MATUNUCK,   EGYPT     391 

said  we  were  there,  and  two  miles  beyond  Mile  Gully 
Post-office.  Everybody  said  to  drive  to  a  big  cotton- 
wood  tree  and  then  straight  on  through  the  gate, 
which  would  be  open,  and  so  it  was,  and  we  entered 
an  enchanting  glade.  It  reminded  me  of  those  big 
estates  we  drove  through  on  the  way  to,  you  know 
what,  in  California,  only  instead  of  live-oaks  there 
are  mangoes  and  bread-fruit  trees  dotted  about. 

We  came  to  the  Great  House  by  and  by,  settled  in 
the  middle  of  a  great  pen,  surrounded  by  its  own 
forest,  a  low,  long  house  in  a  little  fenced  garden, 
full  of  roses.  A  pretty  lady  came  to  the  door,  whom 
I  met  with  ample  apologies.  She  replied  rather 
coldly,  "  I  had  to  receive  you  after  your  telegram. 
Your  horses  are  here  already,"  i.  e.,  Lawrence's  mules 
already  out  at  pasture  along  with  the  Coke  beasts. 
She  showed  me  into  the  daughter's  room,  evacuated 
for  me,  close  by  the  grand  salon  of  entrance.  In  fact 
it  was  only  a  bluff  their  sending  word  "No  room," 
and  I  will  now  say  that  these  people  are  no  lodging- 
keepers  but  the  Fat  of  the  Land,  as  if  I  had  driven 
into  Martha  Williams'  front  yard  and  demanded  bed 
and  board.  It  was  the  post-mistress's  fault,  and  ap- 
parently the  way  they  do  things  here,  but  you  can 
imagine  that  I  felt  horrid.  However,  I  so  pleased 
the  lady  and  her  family  with  my  charms  and  native 
dances  that  they  became  enamoured  of  me,  urged  me 
stay  longer,  to  come  back  and  bring  my  friends,  etc., 
etc.  She  is  about  fifty,  slight,  well  dressed  (she  was 
on  her  way  to  a  tea),  looked  sort  of  like  Louisa  Fes- 
senden.  Her  husband  is  one  of  the  chief  landowners 
of  the  island.  She  has  three  sons  and  seven  daugh- 
ters (and  I  am  sure  it  was  the  biggest  daughter  that 
objected  to  having  me  come).  The  house  is  full  of 
glorious  old  mahogany,  family  portraits,  East  India 
china,  plenty  books,  a  piano.  We  found  mutual 
friends,  for  her  eldest  daughter  is  married  to  Kerr, 


392    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

the  great  exporting  merchant  at  Port  Maria,  where 
I  have  been  staying  at  the  Rectory,  and  they  all 
wanted  to  hear  about  Miss  Reece's  engagement  to 
Mr.  Bovell  of  Port  Maria  (my  intimate  friends).  I 
had  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  nap  (on  my  four-poster,  as 
hard  as  rocks)  ;  at  seven  a  very  pretty  dinner  was 
served,  soup,  fish,  roast,  grape-fruit  from  their  own 
trees,  black  coffee,  and  we  chatted  till  I  dropped  with 
fatigue. 

At  six  o'clock  next  morning,  after  a  good  bath  in 
my  half-calabash  tub,  Mrs.  Coke  herself  brought  my 
coffee  and  egg.  She  and  her  daughters  were  starting 
for  (twenty  miles)  Mandeville,  where  they  go  every 
Saturday  to  market,  to  take  a  music  lesson  and  some 
other  kind  of  lesson.  She  had  sent  word  by  her  man 
to  tell  my  man  to  bring  up  my  mules  at  the  same  time. 
Her  husband,  who  had  been  dining  somewhere  and 
returned  at  midnight,  put  me  in  my  buggy,  and  I 
was  off  before  seven  o'clock.  Meantime  Dan,  with 
my  other  team,  had  departed  at  midnight  for  Browns 
Town.  So  Jacky,  me,  and -the  mules  started  for  Mal- 
vern  over  the  ridge  and  down  Bogue  Hill,  through 
the  Savannahs  and  up  to  Lacovia,  thence  to  this  place 
(I  must  take  another  half -sheet).  Mrs.  Coke  put 
me  up  a  luncheon  of  minced-egg  sandwiches,  cold 
chicken,  grape-fruit,  and  I  brought  along  for  her 
little  daughter,  who  is  at  school  not  far  from  here, 
a  big  basket  of  oranges  and  her  umbrella,  which  she 
had  forgotten  at  home.  The  dreadful  part  of  this 
was  that  it  was  impossible  to  pay  for  my  lodgings 
(as,  of  course,  I  intended).  I  had  to  say  something 
about  it,  but  Mrs.  Coke  waved  me  aside  as  a  thing 
of  no  moment,  and  I  could  only  express  my  shame 
at  intruding,  so  I  was  glad  to  be  a  beast  of  burden 
to  convey  these  things  to  the  daughter,  especially  as 
it  occasioned  me  no  inconvenience.  But  this  is  true 
Jamaica.  The  people  are  just  as  hospitable  as  they 


JAMAICA,   MATUNUCK,   EGYPT     393 

can  be,  and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  they  thirst  to  see 
( decent)  people  from  the  outside  world.  Fancy !  Mrs. 
Coke  has  never  been  to  Port  Maria  where  her  daugh- 
ter lives,  nor  Montego  Bay,  nor  to  any  of  the  places 
I  have  seen  in  Jamaica,  except  Kingston,  where  they 
now  can  go  by  rail.  The  railroad  cuts  through  the 
middle  of  their  grounds,  but  it  is  so  remote  that  you 
neither  hear,  see,  nor  smell  it.  To  be  sure  there  is  but 
one  train  each  way  daily,  and  the  station  is  three 
miles  off. 

Jacky  and  me  changed  mules  for  horses  at  Barton's 
Isles  down  below.  Along  there  we  began  to  see  the 
sea,  but  lost  it  again  to  climby-climby  the  Santa  Cruz 
mountains.  It  was  two  o'clock  when  we  got  here  — 
over  ninety  miles  in  the  two  days.  I  love  it.  I  mean 
to  have  one  more  go  in  the  buggy  before  I  leave  the 
island. 

And  here  it  is  rapturous,  as  I  wrote  you  last  year, 
no  doubt.  At  present  Kev.  Chaney  and  Mrs.  are 
here,  as  delighted  as  I  am  with  the  climate,  the  view, 
the  people,  the  animals  and  all.  I  have  your  letter 
of  January  25.  I  am  very  bad  about  writing  this 
year.  No  time !  I  will  try  now  to  do  better. 

LOVING  SUSIE. 


To  Miss  MARY  E.  WILLIAMS 

LUCEA,  JAMAICA,  Tuesday,  March  15,  190 1^. 

DEAR  MAMIE,  —  Tou  must  know  that  as  I  drive, 
alone,  in  my  buggy,  it  often  happens  that  I  have  some 
one  particular  person  with  me,  and  all  my  thoughts 
sort  of  take  the  form  of  telling  that  person  what  I 
see  and  enjoy  on  the  road.  You  were  that  person 
yesterday,  so  now  I  will  try  to  tell  you  about  it,  but, 
of  course,  all  my  brilliant  thoughts  have  escaped  me 
by  this  time.  .  .  . 

Now,  you  see,  I  have  been  staying  at  a  place  called 


394    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

Mackfield  for  two  or  three  days,  and  there  I  had  a 
funny  time.  It  is  a  beautiful  "hotel"  high  up  on 
a  little  mountain,  remote  from  the  world,  with  a 
parapet  built  all  round  the  really  ancient  house,  like 
a  castle,  and  a  glorious  view  for  miles  away,  looking 
down  into  valleys  over  beautiful  forests.  Judge 
Burke  advised  me  to  go  there;  they  are  just  moved 
there  from  Malvern,  and  when  I  reached  my  lofty 
castle  the  people  showed  me  the  Burkes'  house  down 
below,  as  we  look  down  on  Weedens'  —  only  this  is 
much  higher.  I  was  enraptured  with  my  room  on  the 
battlement  looking  off  over  the  abyss,  there  was  ab- 
solutely nobody  else  in  the  house  except  the  very 
affable  landlady,  Mrs.  Munroe,  and  her  spouse, — 
for  the  servants  are  always  poked  off  into  remote 
holes.  But  in  the  p.  M.  Mrs.  Burke,  a  pretty  lady  of 
a  good  Jamaica  family  (white),  took  me  to  drive,  and 
she  told  me  such  yarns  about  the  place  that  I  got 
quite  scared  (not  really,  but  perhaps  a  little  nervous). 
It  appears  the  woman's  husband  has  a  dreadful  tem- 
per, beats  his  wife,  maltreats  the  servants,  takes  all 
the  money.  Now  I  had  thought  him  quite  a  beauti- 
ful man,  ugly,  but  with  a  courtly  bearing,  very  polite 
to  me,  pointing  out  things  in  the  landscape,  so  I  had 
confided  everything  to  him,  and  engaged  his  horses 
to  take  me  thence  to  this  place  on  Monday,  —  but 
Mrs.  Burke  said  that  was  dreadful,  that  he  had  no 
horses,  had  no  decent  carriage,  had  no  driver.  So 
I  went  to  bed  that  night  imagining  all  sorts  of  things. 
It  is  the  still-est  place  I  ever  was  in,  silence  embodied, 
I  lay  awake,  expecting  to  hear  shrieks,  —  and  won- 
dering how  I  could  escape  from  the  place,  especially 
as  I  was  a  little  short  of  money,  having  been  now 
more  than  a  month  away  from  banks  and  credit. 
But  Mr.  Burke,  when  he  came  home  for  Sunday, 
fixed  me  all  up  (took  my  American  check).  I  guess 
he  gave  his  wife  a  wigging  for  scaring  me,  and  it 


JAMAICA,   MATUNUCK,   EGYPT     395 

was  rather  foolish  of  her,  seeing  it  was  his  advice 
that  took  me  to  the  place.  She  had  had  a  row  with 
Munroes,  something  about  a  slop-pail;  Burkes  are 
living  in  a  house  belonging  to  Monroes,  supposed  to 
be  furnished,  but  not.  However,  I  must  confess  that 
I  got  off  early  yesterday  with  a  feeling  like  that  of 
escaping  from  a  robber's  den,  or  rather  an  ogre's 
castle.  The  ogre  was  affable  to  the  last,  he  smiled 
gently  with  his  one  tooth,  receipted  the  bill  which 
was  most  moderate,  fastened  my  things  on  the  buggy 
(a  very  comfortable  one),  his  wife  almost  shed  tears, 
the  servants  stood  about  pressing  my  shilling  apiece 
close  to  their  palms.  "  Mr.  Duer,"  a  very  respectable 
coachman,  borrowed  for  the  occasion,  took  the  reins, 
and  we  drove  off.  Nothing  sinister  happened  twenty- 
six  miles  to  this  place,  one  of  the  horses  stumbled 
once  going  down  a  hill,  but  that  might  occur  any  time. 
The  road  was  enchanting  through  immense  estates, 
grass-grown,  with  ruts  between.  Here,  all  Jamaica 
is  really  divided  into  great  ancestral  pens  (which 
have  changed  hands  for  the  most  part),  and  even  the 
Government  roads  pass  through  them  by  gates  at 
either  end,  as  if  we  should  drive  to  New  York  from 
Boston  through  your  place,  and  see  your  hens  as  we 
passed  by.  So  that  was  how  I  escaped  from  the 
ogre's  castle,  not  thrown  into  his  dungeon  at  all,  but 
with  feelings  of  real  regret. 

Now  I  want  to  tell  you  about  their  hens,  for  you 
are  a  hen-ist.  It  was  my  chief  joy  at  Mackfield  to 
see  them  go  to  bed  in  a  tree.  It's  a  small  orange 
tree  that  has  grown  up  from  the  abyss,  and  is  rather 
near  this  parapet,  and  every  night  these  ridiculous 
hens  come  and  crane  their  necks,  and  fear  to  fly,  and 
cluck,  and  go,  away  and  come  back,  and  finally,  one 
by  one,  makes  a  great  clumsy  leap  and  lands,  bounce ! 
in  the  middle  of  earlier  comers.  Finally  the  cock, 
with  equal  hesitation,  but  a  great  air  of  bravery, 


396        LETTEKS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

makes  a  spring  with  a  squawk,  and  comes  down 
kechunk!  on  a  mass  of  hens,  his  legs  slip  down 
amongst  them,  he  gives  one  crow  to  announce  to  the 
world  that  he  and  his  family  are  turned  in,  then  he 
spreads  himself  over  them  like  a  bed-quilt,  and  all 


is  still.  Strange  fruit  for  a  small  orange  tree.  Do 
yours  do  so  ?  Other  cocks  in  the  neighbourhood  were 
marshalling  their  hens  into  other  trees  with  the  same 

mental  agitation  and  tumult 

LOVING  SUSAN. 

To  Miss  ELLEN  D.  HALE 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  May  16,  190  4. 
7  A.  M.  50°.  Wind  west  but  raw  with  fogs. 
NELLY,  —  The  first  thing  I  did  on  Saturday  was 
to  take  down  "  Henrietta  "  by  Charlotte  Lennox  and 
read  it  straight  through.  I  had  been  longing  to  do 
this  to  refute  the  slighting  remarks  of  little  Master 
Dobson  in  his-  preface  to  "  Miss  Burney  "  about  Len- 
nox. Bet  five  cents  he  never  read  the  book,  and  /  say 
it  is  remarkably  sprightly  and  clever.  Anyhow  I  made 
the  "  Elder  Blows  "  roar  with  laughter  when  I  read 
it  to  them  in  Mrs.  Olmsted's  house  some  centuries 
ago.  Of  course,  that  might  have  been  my  wit  —  but 
not  all.  There 's  a  scene  in  a  stage-coach  worth  pre- 
serving as  a  picture  of  the  times,  and  the  characters 


JAMAICA,   MATUNUCK,   EGYPT     397 

are  excellent  throughout.  Of  course  I  skipped  Hen- 
rietta's previous  history  which  she  related  between 
pages  41-176,  at  one  sitting. 

However,  that's  no  consequence.  Mister  Brown- 
ing says  I  'm  remarkable.  He  don't  know  as  he  ever 
see  a  gyirl  of  twenty  ser  spry  as  I  be,  —  and  he  hopes 
I  '11  continner  so.  He  just  delivered  himself  of  these 
remarks  on  the  occasion  of  bringing  in  cedar  sticks 
left  from  the  old  fence,  for  there 's  a  new  one  all 
along  the  place  from  the  Libr'y  to  Goodchildses.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSAN. 

To  Miss  MAEY  B.  DINSMOOR 

MATUNTJCK,  KHODE  ISLAND,  June,  1904" 
...  So  I  have  invented  reading  in  bed  with  my 
table  shoved  to  overlap  the  pillows,  with  an  excellent 
candle  on  it.  There  till  nine  "  close  couched  "  with 
the  thicket,  of  course,  shedding  cold  dews  and  wild 
flowers  on  my  head,  I  hear  the  baffled  pack  down- 
stairs, or  hawking  up  to  bed  themselves  at  nine. 
Then  out  goes  my  candle,  and  me  —  to  sleep.  Thus 
I  have  enjoyed  the  "  Singular  Miss  Smith."  Have 
you  read  it  ?  It  is  quite  a  book  or  rather  a  skit,  with 
singular  lapses  in  construction.  I  wish  I  knew  what 
you  would  think  of  it.  I  am  now  reading  "  Wings 
of  the  Morning,"  a  rank  tale  of  shipwreck.  Robinson 
Crusoe  "  is  n't  in  it "  compared  to  the  lady  and  her 
man  who  found  palm-trees  and  turtles'  eggs  and  oc- 
topuses and  a  well-built  two-storey  apartment,  all 
ready  made  after  going  to  pieces  in  a  great  steamer. 
Before  "  The  Chosen  "  came  (have  you  read  "  Bene- 
factress"?), I  was  steeped  in  Bernard  Shaw.  I  am 
always  fairly  well  posted,  but  now  I  have  bought 
and  read  all  his  plays  "pleasant  or  unpleasant." 
This  came  from  seeing  "  Candida  "  in  Boston. 


398         LETTEKS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

Our  great  event  is  Carla  Atkinson's  arrival.  You 
know  she  has  bought  a  piece  of  land  from  Mr. 
Weeden,  and  built  a  little  house  on  top  of  a  hill 
overlooking  Perch  Cove,  —  sort  of  on  the  way  over 
to  "No  thoroughfare"  and  Hannah's  cart-track. 
There  are  seven  cot-beds  in  it,  and  therefore  room  for 
a  "week-end"  party  of  seven,  including  the  cook, 
over  July  4.  It  is  very  cosy,  pretty,  simple,  modern, 
and  Carla  is  very  happy,  —  so  nice  to  have  this  taste 
of  matrimony,  so  to  speak,  without  the  incumbrance 
of  man.  People  give  her  setting-up  presents,  cups  and 
saucers,  a  settle  that  becomes  a  dinner  table,  and  the 
like,  and  she  consults  me  on  the  subject  of  lamb  and 
butter.  There  was  great  cause  for  anxiety  about 
water  and  the  neighbours  were  sure  there  "  worn't " 
none  to  be  got  on  that  hill.  To  their  dismay  ( I  mean 
the  neighbours')  the  men  boring  (I  mean  boring  the 
hole  not  our  ears  with  lamentations)  struck  water  at 
one  hundred  and  seventy  feet.  In  fact  they've  got  down 
to  China,  as  I  have  expressed  it,  and  are  now  drink- 
ing Oolong  tea.  She  is  to  have  a  wind-mill,  and  is 
getting  five  gallons  a  minute,  and  can,  if  she  wants, 
have  a  perpetual  fountain  as  high  as  her  house.  She 
has  one  maid  (who  cooks),  who  used  to  live  in  the 
Atkinson  family,  an  excellent  buxom  person,  named 
Statia,  who  goes  to  church  with  my  gilt-edged  ladies. 
And  why  should  I  refrain  from  saying  that  my  Nelly 
O'Brien  is  the  sweetest  thing  you  ever  saw,  rosy 
cheeks,  white  teeth,  bright  eyes,  invented  by  her 
mother,  who  is  my  General  Purveyor  of  Help.  In 
fact,  when  I  lift  mine  eyes,  it  is  not  to  the  hills 
whence  cometh  my  help,  but  to  Mrs.  O'Brien,  a 
coachman's  wife  with  a  large  family,  cross-eyed,  ac- 
quainted not  only  with  grief  (her  husband  drinks  — 
some) ,  but  with  all  the  gilt-edged  ladies  who  work  on 
Back  Bay.  Old  Mary  Mullin  conceived  the  idea  of 
bringing  this  Nelly  (aged  nineteen,  this  is  her  first 


JAMAICA,   MATUNUCK,   EGYPT     399 

place)  to  be  my  chambermaid,  and  Mary  holds  her 
in  the  hollow  of  her  hand,  to  do  half  her  work;  in- 
cidentally allowing  her  to  make  the  beds  and  (some- 
times) hook  my  gown  under  the  left  arm  where  I 
can't  reach.  Loisy  meanwhile  cooks  serenely,  and  the 
deceased  sister's  husband  is  the  comfort  of  my  life, 
doing  all  those  things  that  Father  Browning  ought  to 
have  done.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  Miss  CAROLINE  P.  ATKINSON 

DEAE,  CAELA, —  I  keep  forgetting  to  tell  you  that 
you  owe  me  nine  dollars  for  nine  legs  of  lamb.  I 
think  it  has  worked  very  well.  This  is  your  lamb, 


poor  thing,  a  mere  skeleton,  all  hind  legs,  while  Rose's 
are  all  "  fores." 

What  a  nice  time  we  had  at  dinner!     I  am  fine 
to-day.    No  roaring  ears,  perfectly  normal. 

LOVING  SUSAN. 


To  Miss  ELLEN  D.  HALE 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  MICHAELMAS 

DAY,  September  29,  1904. 

DEAR  SISTEE,  —  The  bridge  is  in  my  head,  and  a 
"  Bridge  of  Size,"  as  well  as  a  "  Bridge  of  Sighs," 
indeed.  It  hurt  awfully  having  it  in,  it  cuts  the 
gums  so,  you  know,  and  in  fact  the  whole  side  of  my 
face  was  very  full  of  pain  until  I  went  to  sleep  at 


400    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

night.     Perhaps  the  jogging  of  the  train  was  sooth- 
ing, but  I  did  n't  feel  so,  exactly. 

However,  all  was  rapture  here.  The  pond  which 
I  left  a  sere  green  is  all  aflame  with  scarlet  and  yel- 
low reflected,  at  six  this  morning,  in  glass.  Polly 
says  it  changed  all  in  one  night  with  the  cold  snap. 
Louise  hadn't  ate  the  duck,  at  all,  and  her  George 
had  dug  oysters  down  to  the  Salt  Ponds,  so  I  had  a 
delicious  stew  of  them,  very  grateful  to  my  abraded 
palate  (and  a  small  slice  of  cold  duck)  at  five,  with 
a  cup  of  tea.  Bed  at  seven-thirty  after  a  chat  with 
Mr.  Weeden  and  Polly  in  front  of  my  nice  little  fire 
and  the  two  cats.  .  .  . 

I  will  stop  now  on  this,  as  my  head  is  rather  buzz- 
ing with  recent  travel  and  jig-saws  in  my  mouth.  .  .  . 

Dr.  Piper  was  full  of  compliments  for  my  "  forti- 
tude," as  he  calls  it.  How  can  a  person  shriek  or  any 
of  those  things  with  a  head  full  of  napkins  tied  down 
by  garters. 

Affectionately  yours, 

SUSIE. 

It  was  very  nice  for  us  to  be  all  together,  was  n't  it  ? 


To  MBS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

MATTJNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  October  3, 1904- 
CAROLINE  DEAR,  —  I  had  a  regular  circus  in  Boston 
with  my  dentist,  had  to  stay  a  week,  longer  than  I 
intended  or  desired.  But  I  have  a  fine  mouthful 
of  teeth  now  that  will  last  me  out,  and  quite  remark- 
able he  says  for  a  lady  of  my  age.  .  .  . 

I  had  a  horrible  time.  You  see  a  tooth  broke  in  the 
back  of  my  head,  the  mainstay  of  my  celebrated 
"  bridge."  The  dentist  decided  to  move  all  my  chew- 
ing machinery  to  the  other  side  of  my  mouth; 
whereon  he  moved  in  there  himself,  taking  buzz-saws 


JAMAICA,   MATUNUCK,   EGYPT     401 

and  chewing-gum  and  rubber  pipes  and  table-cloths, 
and  remained  there  four  days.  When  he  came  out, 
rather  exhausted,  I  was  a  wreck  but  the  results  are 
excellent. 

Write,  write ! 

YOUR  LOVING  SUSIE. 


To  WILLIAM  B.  WEEDEN 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND. 

DEAR  MR.  WEEDEN,  —  In  our  family  conference,  I 
forgot  to  say  that  I  have  accomplished  "  The  Chippen- 
dales." I  now  return  them  with  thanks.  The  book 
is  really  very  clever,  and  wonderfully  accurate.  The 
only  question  I  ask  is,  if  it 's  worth  while ;  moreover, 
the  last  fifty  to  one  hundred  pages  are  clear,  sheer 
rubbish ;  I  feel  as  if  whatever  Wards,  Wigglesworths, 
Warrens,  Quincys  of  Park  Street  exist  must  tremble 
lest  their  fine  old  ancestors  turn  in  their  graves  at 
the  rumour  even  of  that  surreptitious  child  being 
born  "  in  their  midst,"  and  come  forth  to  refute  the 
charge.  However,  I  have  been  very  much  entertained 
by  the  book,  and  it  puts  me  back  in  the  early  fifties 
(mine  and  the  century's)  when  I  was  in  the  thick 
of  it. 

Always  yours, 

SUSAN. 

To  MRS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

DAHABIEH  "  Aziz"  OFF  EL  KAB, 

February  1,  1905. 

MY  DEAREST  CAROLINE, — We  are  frozen  to  death, 
chilled  to  the  bone,  quaking  in  every  limb,  and  drift- 
ing down  river  hind-side  before,  against  a  howling 
north  wind,  which  is  taking  native  boats  joyously 
up  to  Assouan.  But  we  have  been  there  and  done 


402         LETTERS    OF   SUSAN   HALE 

it,  and  want  now  to  get  back  to  Cairo,  for  our  time 
is  up,  and  the  bottom  has  come  out,  not  of  the  Mle, 
but  of  our  delightful,  dawdling,  amazing  (but  not 
warm)  trip,  since  December  16,  when  we  left  Cairo. 
I  have  your  splendid  letter  of  December  18  received 
coming  up  river  16th  of  January  at  Luxor  (where, 
by  the  way,  our  letters  are  again  accumulating).  I 
kind  of  envy  you  in  Boston,  in  your  nice  warm  house 
with  every  kind  of  artificial  heat  at  your  back,  but 
I  hate  to  have  you  stay  there  all  winter.  You  must 
not  let  go  of  travelling.  I  hope  to  have  many  another 
good  spin  with  you  and  Louisa,  if  ever  I  get  out  of 
this  scrape !  —  not  but  what  it 's  a  good  scrape,  as  you 
know.  .  .  .  But  this  is  not  describing  the  camel  or 
the  palm,  for  which  see  my  letters  thirty-five  years 
ago,  when  I  did  them  full  justice.  They  are  right 
here  all  the  same,  and  so  are  the  temples ;  but  how  the 
towns  are  changed,  Cairo,  Luxor,  Assouan,  mere 
replicas  of  Paris,  and,  alas!  and,  alas!  for  Philse. 
Was  the  barrage  done  when  you  were  up  last?  We 
rowed  into  the  bed  of  Pharaoh,  as  if  it  were  a  bath- 
tub. Cleopatra  was  holding  up  her  petticoats  and 
Horus  preparing  for  a  dive.  We  had  a  jovial  picnic 
day  there  (I  suppose  you  did)  ;  going  by  rail  to 
Shellah,  then  in  a  native  boat,  amidst  yelling  and 
fighting  to  the  Temples,  then  rowed  to  the  barrage, 
which  we  climbed  up  on,  and  Mrs.  P.  and  I  were 
trundled  in  a  little  car,  the  others  walking,  over  rails, 
the  one  and  a  quarter  miles  long  it  is,  to  the  locks, 
where  there  is  a  bungalow  for  the  engineers.  There 
our  dragoman,  Sala,  was  in  his  glory.  We  had  a  de- 
licious luncheon  on  the  yellow  sands,  and  saw  a  great 
steamer  go  up  through  the  lock.  Then  other  Nubians 
rowed  us  down  the  old  cataracts  (what  is  left  of  them) 
to  the  town  again  past  yellow  sands  and  great,  black, 
gleaming  rocks,  and  through  turbulent  waters  to  our 
cosy  boat,  a  real  home  to  come  back  to,  where  we  daily 


JAMAICA,   MATUNUCK,   EGYPT     403 

watch  the  sunset  after  p.  M.  tea  on  the  divans  of  our 
pretty  upper  deck. 

Then  we  had  visitors  (and  at  Luxor  as  well),  the 
Whitehouse  parents  of  Kemson  are  there  and  came  to 
tea.  They  are  dears,  and  have  been  to  all  the  places 
we  have,  and  settled  down  on  Assouan  as  the  best 
(I  think  it  is  a  loathely  spot).  Then  we  had  two  of 
the  five  Hooper  girls  to  luncheon  (dear  old  Dr. 
Hooper's  grandchildren).  Two  are  married,  three 
are  here,  they  travel  round  together  with  no  chap- 
erone.  No  doubt  there  is  safety  in  numbers.  One 
wants  to  know  about  stars  and  I  told  her. 

At  Luxor  were  the  Lindon  Smiths  (he  that  bought 
the  "  Velasquez "  for  Boston)  travelling,  no,  living, 
with  his  Pa  and  Ma,  his  pretty  wife  (a  G.  P.  Put- 
nam), their  two  little  girls  and  a  doll,  living  very 
cheaply  in  a  dahabieh,  and  copying  Horus  and 
Ramses  off  the  walls  of  Karnak.  He  is  a  great  friend 
of  Russell  Sullivan.  She  is  by  the  way  of  being  a 
beauty.  They  dined  with  us,  and  so  did  Mr.  Preble, 
who  is  travelling  with  his  aunt,  who  is  eighty,  Mrs. 
Sweet,  and  pays  the  bills.  My  friends  the  Theodore 
Davises  are  at  Luxor  still,  tied  up  on  the  opposite 
bank,  because  he  has  business  with  Queen  Hatasu 
over  there  in  the  Tombs  of  the  Kings.  I  love  them 
all,  I  mean  the  party  Davis,  and  wish  I  could  be  more 
with!  them.  But  we  have  settled  down  very  comfort- 
ably to  our  vie  a  quatre.  The  Longfellows  are  old 
Nile-ists  (their  sixth  or  seventh  trip  up  river),  so 
they  are  as  biases  as  I  am  about  cartouches  and  things, 
and  we  are  doing  the  smallest  possible  amount  of 
Temples  and  donkeys  .  .  .  but  Mrs.  Perkins  is  full 
of  enthusiasm  and  goes  to  everything,  reads  Amelia  B. 
and  Baedeker,  and  keeps  us  up  to  the  mark.  Ernest 
is  an  amusing  fellow.  We  have  lots  of  jokes  and  fun, 
read  aloud,  and  dawdle.  I  will  write  some  more  when 
our  future  plans  crystallise.  LOVING  SUSAN. 


404    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

To  Miss  MARY  E.  WILLIAMS 

Ha!    Escaped  from  the  Nile! 
DAMPFEB  SCHLESWIG,  March  10,  1905. 

DEAKEST  MOIMITCH, —  You  shall  have  this  letter. 
Never  was  anyone  so  bad  as  I  have  been  about  writ- 
ing. It  was  so  to  speak  impossible  on  the  Nile, 
'  _  cabined,  close,  confined;  —  but  now! 
Susan  is  herself  again,  her  foot  on 
her  native  Mediterranean.  Let  joy 
be  unconfined. 

I  found  your  dear  letter  in  Cairo, 
of  February  14,  on  March  30 ;  was  n't 
it  quick  by  the  way  ?  One  obstacle 
to  writing  on  the  Nile  was  receiving  no  letters. 
I  got  them  all,  except  three  times  in  eleven  weeks,  in 
a  bunch  on  arrival.  We  stopped  at  Shepheards  a 
week,  came  off  on  Wednesday  for  this  ship.  We  are 
on  our  way  to  Marseilles  and  thence  across  to  Algeria, 
where  we  shall  be  about  a  month,  then  back  to  Cannes, 
in  April,  to  get  my  night  gowns  and  see  lovely  quince 
blossoms  and  things,  then  Paris  for  a  week  or  so,  then 
to  snatch  some  steamer  for  home  about  May  1.  The 
winter  is  over,  and  these  remaining  weeks  will  slide 
off  like  turtles  from  a  rock  in  my  pond.  Only  words, 
dear  Mamie,  will  describe  my  experiences;  I  will 
promise  to  be  very  funny  when  we  meet.  ...  It  has 
been  (honest)  a  charming  winter  and  very  salutary, 
and  since  the  weather  turned  warm  I  have  been 
happy,  but  you  know  those  first  weeks  on  the  river 
were  really  anguish  when  I  prepared  my  little  nest 
of  fur  every  night  in  my  cabin,  and  quaked  every 
sunrise  in  my  ice-cold  bath.  But  I  'm  all  right 
now.  My  celebrated  good  physique  has  carried 
me  through.  .  .  . 

I  think  I  must  tell  you  about  our  leaving  our  Aziz, 


JAMAICA,   MATUNUCK,   EGYPT     405 

the  dahabieh —  Longfellows',  with  their  maid,  got 
off  early,  we  lingered  partly  to  finish,  and  partly  to 
have  our  dear  sailors  to  ourselves.  We  shook  hands 
with  them  all  on  their  lower  deck.  They  adore 
Evelyn,  she  has  been  very  nice  about  turbans,  back- 
sheesh,  tobacco,  etc.,  while  I  have  amused  them 
greatly  by  my  native  dances  —  ten  sailors,  the  reis, 
the  second  reis,  the  Nubian  cook,  the  cook  boy, — 
Bed-riddin,  the  waiter,  —  Mahommed,  the  singer, — 
all  these  in  red  turbans  with  wistful  eyes,  gleaming 
teeth,  —  came  up  the  bank  after  us  and  crowded 
round  the  carriage,  while  Saleh,  the  dragoman,  in- 
terpreted for  us.  "  Saleh,"  said  I,  "  tell  them  we  love 
them  all."  A  shout  arose  from  them  —  they  touched 
their  foreheads,  some  say  there  were  tears  in  Yellow 
Jacket's  eyes.  My  Mohammed  Said,  a  sweet  boy 
with  slender,  buff  legs,  who  always  held  on  to  me 
tight,  crossing  the  gangplank  or  going  to  see  Temples, 
had  departed  with  the  trunks,  —  but  I  had  him  after- 
wards in  the  hotel,  and  gave  him  twenty  piastres.  He 
is  about  sixteen,  and  has  a  wife  and  two  children. 
We  shall  miss  these  creatures,  they  are  children,  so 
simple.  I  call  them  our  toys  which  we  have  played 
with  all  winter ;  and  now  they  are  put  back  in  their 
box.  I  think  of  putting  George  Jones,  Loisy's  spouse, 
into  turban  and  gown;  wouldn't  you? 

Speaking  of  Davis,  you  know  he  has  dug  up  Queen 
Tii,  the  mother-in-law  or  something  of  Amenhotep  II, 
a  great  "  find,"  with  a  chariot  in  excellent  condition, 
a  tablet  with  conversation  on  it,  all  manner  of  things. 
It  is  said  that  Theodore  fainted  three  times  with 
excitement  (or  more  likely  the  bad  air)  when  he  first 
entered  the  tomb.  They  are  now  coming  down  the 
river,  but  waltzing  round  as  we  did  probably  in  ad- 
verse winds.  You  know  I  became  very  fond  of  him. 
He  calls  me  "  Aunt  Susan,"  and  in  an  occasional  jest, 
I  call  him  Theodore.  .  .  . 


406        LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

I  have  been  terribly  afraid  old  age  would  set  in; 
but  now  I  believe  I  shall  hold  out  to  get  home.  Lots 
of  love  from 

SUSAN. 

To  Miss  CAROLINE  P.  ATKINSON 

AND 
Miss  MARY  E.  WILLIAMS 

MANHATTAN,  May  18, 1905. 

MY  DEAREST  GIRLS,   BOTH   IN  A  BUNCH, 1   am  SO 

joyous  I  must  write  you  at  once.  It  almost  frightens 
me  to  have  things  go  my  way  so  splendidly  as  they 
seem  to  do.  I  feel  as  if  I  must  knock  wood  all  the 
time  to  keep  the  charm  up.  I  have  arrived  this 
minute,  that 's  half -past  ten,  and  it  is  now  just  twelve. 
I  only  waited  to  get  this  paper  out  of  my  Angel,  to 
tell  you  all  about  it.  Your  dear  letters  of  14th  were 
both  here,  with  others  reassuring  me  about  the  safety 
and  health  of  everybody.  One  is  always  nervous  just 
on  arriving,  don't  you  think  so  ?  But  Parber  writes 
in  fine  spirits,  so  I  think  everybody  must  be  alive, 
though  he  don't  mention  it.  (Lovely  whistles  and 
things  screeching  for  noon  o'clock.) 

In  the  first  place  I  have  had  a  rapturous  voyage  as 
to  comfort,  with  my  cabin  all  to  myself,  and  more- 
over everybody  on  the  ship  fell  to  adoring  me,  I  never 
was  so  "  muched  "  in  my  life,  let  alone  stewards  and 
"  Bad  Fraus  "  that  jumped  and  ran  to  do  my  things. 
There  is  absolutely  no  doubt  I  was  the  belle  of  the 
ship.  Very  few  men,  —  which  was  tedious,  —  and 

the  women  of  a  highly  cultured  type,  which 

bored  me,  but  I  could  sit  in  my  cabin  alone  and  do 
my  cross-stitch,  and  read  a  most  dreadfully  vile 
French  novel  by  Marcel  Prevost,  and  an  appallingly 
dull  one,  Italian,  by  Deledda,  the  Sardine.  Last 
evening  there  were  speeches,  and  I  was  called  upon 


JAMAICA,   MATUNUCK,   EGYPT     407 

for  one,  and  sang  "  Coming  through  the  Eye  "  with 
a  small  German  flag  that  happened  to  be  stuck  in  my 
hair,  I  forgot  it  was  there.  I  am  told  that  I  saved 
the  occasion  by  doing  so.  You  will  think  I  am  dread- 
fully stuck  up,  but  I  am  really  meek  and  lowly  old 
womans.  Then  I  had  a  beautiful  smooth  time 
through  the  Douane,  though  my  trunk  was  foaming 
to  the  top  with  contraband  night  gowns  and  little 
petticoats,  not  to  say  mouchoirs  all  marked  with  my 
name,  and  pink  ribbons  run  into  them;  for  the  cus- 
tomary man  didn't  mind  them  in  the  least,  said  I 
might  'a  had  more.  So  I  jumped  into  a  carriage 
with  all  my  goods  piled  up,  and  waved  at  the  literary 
females  on  their  knees  before  their  trunks,  and  just 
as  we  came  out  of  the  warehouses,  the  sun  came  out 
and  made  even  Hoboken  look  like  a  Garden  of  Spring 
Paradise.  I  caused  the  driver  to  open  the  carriage, 
and  there  I  sate  in  a  fluffy  white  boa  I  have,  it  cost 
seven  francs  fifty  in  Cannes,  and  drove  up  town  to  the 
admiration  of  the  provincial  New  Yorkers.  And  here 
I  was  received  most  cordially,  my  telegram  (from  the 
wharf)  had  just  arrived,  and  my  favourite  No.  604 
assigned  to  me.  So  I  came  up  and  read  my  nice  let- 
ters, and  took  my  night  gowns  out  and  looked  at 
them,  and  now  I  am  writing  this.  I  don't  feel  half 
so  addled  in  the  head  as  I  usually  do,  coming  off  the 
voyage,  but  quite  equal  to  going  about  my  business. 
It  is  warm,  the  window  open  and  the  river  all  hazy, 
and  steam  coming  out  of  chimneys.  .  .  . 

YOUB  JOYOUS  SUSAN. 


CHAPTEK   XII 
LAST   YEARS 

(1906-1910) 
To  Miss  ELLEN  D.  HALE 

MONTEGO  BAY,  January  19,  1906. 
7:30  A.M. 

DEAR  NELLY,  —  Whatever  else  happens  I  must 
begin  my  adventures.  ...  I  want  to  tell  about 
Ulster  Springs,  where  I  was  reminded,  and  kept 
thinking,  strange  to  say,  of  your  little  house  at  Santa 
Barbara  and  the  fun  we  had  there  with  an  oil-stove. 

But  first,  the  getting  off  from  Browns  Town.  Oh 
Heavens,  it  was  high  time,  for  I  was  becoming  so 
terribly  popular  (on  account  of  my  shillings,  soon 
reduced  to  sixpences)  that  the  whole  populace 
swarmed  around  the  lodgings,  this  is  slightly  figura- 
tive. But  literally,  after  I  got  dressed  and  trunks 
locked,  my  hat  on,  and  sate  in  the  veranda,  at  every 
moment  somebody  came  with  small  flowers,  or  a  de- 
mand of  some  sort.  I  had  a  kind  of  breakfast  at 
nine-thirty,  and  at  ten  mounted  my  buggy,  sur- 
rounded by  Dr.  Miller,  Gauntelett,  Judge  Cole,  Mrs. 
Smith,  Mrs.  Smythe,  Mrs.  Taafe,  and  all  the  darks 
(Susan,  Nora,  Letty,  Nancy,  Cecil,  and  more  I  can- 
not name). 

"  Start  up,  Dan !  "  I  said,  and  we  rolled  out  of  the 
yard  towards  Stewart  Town.  You  know  I  am  never 
so  happy  as  when  I  thus  escape  from  my  keepers, 
free  for  hours  from  the  clash  of  twaddly  conversa- 
tion ;  in  my  cool  wash-gown,  my  serape  under  me  in 


LAST   YEARS  409 

case  of  rain,  the  Angel  strapped  behind;  my  trunk 
gone  to  S.  S.  Delta  to  come  by  sea  (it  hasn't  arrived, 
by  the  way,  but  it  will,  no  doubt). 

That  drive  was  lovely  up  to  Ulster  Springs.  I 
have  long  wanted  to  see  it.  We  passed  Mahogany 
Hall,  a  fine  old  estate ;  there 's  a  picture  of  it  in  that 
book  I  've  got,  —  Dr.  Johnson's  Guide  Book ;  then 
we  began  to  climb,  climb,  this  is  in  the  cock-pit 
country,  you  know,  so  snarly  with  hills  and  canyons 
there  are  no  roads  but  this,  that  clings  to  the  cliff; 
when  we  were  rounding  the  curve  we  looked  up  across 
the  chasm  to  the  palisades  up  there,  sheer  rocks  bright 
orange  colour,  like  iron-rust  in  coral,  and  by  and  by 
lo !  we  were  up  there,  but  all  the  time  driving  through 
thick  woods,  looking  down  on  the  tops  of  huge  trees 
on  one  side,  and  up  to  the  roots  of  others  on  the  other. 
Yet  in  the  middle  sort  of  chasm  there  are  hilltops 
with  houses,  and  goats  going  up  to  them.  The  forest- 
side  is  rampant  with  ferns ;  a  wall,  thick  with  them, 
and  some  flowers,  especially  the  wild  begonia,  every- 
where, much  prettier  than  our  house-pot  one,  its  little 
earrings  are  brightest  carmine  and  the  other  pale 
pink,  and  it  grows  more  like  a  vine.  Well,  it 's  about 
twenty-two  miles  up  to  Ulster  Springs  from  Browns 
Town,  and  naturally  it's  at  the  top  of  everything, 
gloriously  looking  off  over  mountains  rather  distant. 
Now  you  must  know  Miss  Moses  is  the  post-mistress 
there,  and  she  wrote  to  beg  me  to  come  and  put  up 
with  her  (no  lodgings)  at  her  post-office.  So  we  drew 
up  before  the  sweetest  little  house,  this  is  what  re- 
minded me  of  yours,  all  covered  with  purple  (mauve) 
Thunbergia,  the  blossoms  as  big  as  a  tea-cup.  This 
picture  is  the  whole  of  the  house.  The  window  is 
the  post-office  on  a  veranda  with  steps;  a  door  leads 
into  a  sitting  room  (with  a  piano!)  that  takes  up  all 
the  house  concealed  by  a  vine,  but  back  of  the  post- 
office  is  a  tiny  bedroom,  where  they  had  conceived 


410        LETTERS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

I  should  sleep,  and  a  sort  of  passageway  where  a 
sweet  dinner  table  was  already  set  with  all  the 
luxuries  of  the  season.  It  was  about  3  P.  M.  The 
only  light  of  the  little  place  was  the  door  with  steps 
leading  down  to  the  kitchen  across  the  yard.  I  had 
a  nap  on  the  little  very  hard  bed  in  the  bedroom. 

Well  Anne  Moses  is  twenty-four,  she  says;  she  is 
quite  like  Mrs.  Joe  Browning,  you  know,  librarian 
at  Matunuck,  very  sweet  in  manner,  intelligent,  and 
a  power  in  the  place.  She  has  two  friends  who  came 
in  to  help  cook  the  dinner  and  serve  it,  not  in  the 
least  menial  spirit  —  for  after  the  meal  they  all  re- 
tired by  turns  to  this  tiny  bedroom,  and  put  on  rich 
shirt-waists  with  pink  skirts  and  did  their  hair  and 
hung  themselves  about  with  beads.  I  took  greatly  to 
these  girls,  they  were  so  wholesome  and  nice  and  had 
taken  such  pains  for  me,  and  Lena  had  made  the 
pudding  and  there  was  cake,  and  mounds  of  fruit 
which  I  brought  away  with  me  in  a.  newspaper.  Miss 
Moses  is  a  worker,  runs  the  town  as  well  as  P.  O.,  I 
should  think.  She  owns  two  or  three  cows  which 
have  calves  from  time  to  time,  as  a  good  investment 
of  her  earnings.  She  is  to  be  promoted  to  Springs 
P.  O.,  so  she  will  never  be  there  again.  While  we 
sate  under  the  Thunbergia  vine,  people  came  on 
horses,  donkeys,  or  legs,  to  get  their  letters,  and  I 
amused  myself  by  telephoning  back  to  Browns  Town 
how  happy  I  was  —  we  telephoned  to  Miss  Scott  and 
her  aid,  the  P.  O.  mistress  there,  and  could  hear  them 
chuckling  over  my  message,  which  they  straightway 
communicated  to  the  lodgings.  Was  n't  this  fun ! 

But  meanwhile,  Judge  Cole  had  written  to  the 
Sergeant  of  Police  that  I  was  to  sleep  in  the  Court 
House,  and  though  this  was  a  disappointment  to  my 
girls,  the  glory  of  it  was  such  they  could  not  gainsay 
it,  so  after  a  stroll  in  the  gloaming,  they  escorted  me 
thither  and  left  me  pretty  early,  as  I  was  tired-er 


LAST   YEAES  411 

than  dogs,  but  shortly  after  they  left,  their  minion 
came  up  my  steps  with  a  tray  and  hot  coffee,  as  a 
sleeping  cup  I 

Now  for  the  night.  The  great  big  stone  Court 
House  with  not  a  soul  in  it  or  near  it,  on  the  highest 
point  of  Ulster  Springs,  looking  off  on  glorious  stars 
and  mountains,  none  of  the  doors  were  locked,  and 
my  room  opened  into  the  great  court-room,  where  the 
judge  sits  in  his  wig,  and  judges.  In  the  middle 
of  the  night  I  came  out  and  prowled  and  looked  at 
the  stars  from  the  outer  door,  which  I  left  open  all 
night.  The  bed  delicious,  a  rapturous  dream  of  ease. 
At  dawn,  which  isn't  very  early  now,  I  came  out 
and  found  the  east  veranda  commanded  a  glorious 
view.  Mrs.  Brooks,  a  deaf  lady  with  one  tooth,-  was 
rather  late  in  turning  up  to  bring  my  bath  in  a  cala- 
bash, which  she  set  down  in  the  room  where  criminals 
wait  for  judgment;  because  that  floor  is  only  common 
boards  she  didn't  mind  slopping  on,  —  and  after- 
wards she  made  some  rather  poor  coffee,  which  I 
sipped  in  the  sunrise.  Dan,  it  seems,  was  sleeping 
in  my  buggy  under  the  shed  outside  (not  having 
friends  at  Court  as  I  did).  He  put  in  the  horses, 
and  we  came  off  (a  shilling  pressed  in  the  hand  of 
the  old  lady)  stopping  at  P.  O.  for  another  and  better 
cup  of  coffee  Miss  Moses  insisted  on  preparing  for 
me.  She  would  not  take  any  pay  for  the  lodgings :  — • 
but  I  bought  a  piece  of  drawn-work  they  made 
amongst  them.  ISTow  warn't  that  fun!  Later:  — 
9  A.  M.  Same  Day.  —  Nothing  doing  in  this  excel- 
lent house,  so  I  will  fatten  this  letter,  as  Lucretia 
used  to  say.  and  send  it  double. 

Again  the  drive  was  beautiful,  repeating  the  same 
as  far  as  Mahogany  Hall,  for  Ulster  Springs  is  the 
end  of  all  things  in  the  other  direction.  It  had 
rained,  and  mist  was  hanging  over  things,  in  fact 
it  was  quite  cool  for  here.  We  came  down  through 


412    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

Duncan  Town  to  the  well-known  (by  me)  road  that 
runs  all  along  the  north  side  of  the  island,  and  came 
to  Falmouth  by  noon ;  we  had  started  so  early.  Now 
here  was  Mrs.  Jacobs  in  her  brand-new  lodgings,  in 
a  formerly  bank  building  just  opposite  the  Court 
House.  I  was  in  Falmouth  my  first  year,  and  at 
Mrs.  Jacobs'  lodgings,  it  was  then  an  awful  place, 
the  terror  of  Jamaica,  but  she  even  then  was  a  worthy 
woman,  deaf,  with  one  tooth.  The  tooth  is  lost  now, 
so  I  didn't  know  her  at  first,  but  recognised  her  by 
the  deafness.  She  was  in  raptures  to  show  off  her 
splendour,  only  deeply  grieved  I  wouldn't  stay,  in 
fact  offended  that  I  did  n't,  but  how  could  I !  though 
for  creature  comforts  I  would  fain  have  lingered  in 
that  excellent  bed,  in  a  huge  room  with  grand  old 
mahogany  furniture,  wide  windows  with  little  hang- 
ing balconies  to  them,  the  whole  house  to  myself, 
doors  standing  open,  great  mahogany  doors  that  don't 
shut  very  well  on  account  of  the  brass  knobs  being 
loose. 

"  And  there 's  a  garret,"  said  she  with  honest  pride, 
in  showing  me  over  the  house,  and  climbed  me  up 
there.  The  Inspector  of  the  Port  lives  there,  and 
indeed  he  is  to  be  envied  his  great  room  as  big  as  the 
whole  top-story  at  Matunuck,  with  a  view  from  Mon- 
tego  to  Port  Antonio  (exaggeration)  and  strong  sea 
breeze.  He  used  to  live  in  a  hole  at  her  old  lodgings, 
which  has  been  the  only  place  for  him  to  be.  This 
rez  de  cTiaussee  used  to  be  the  bank,  a  great  barn 
sort  of  place,  where  she  serves  excellent  meals,  to 
droppers-in  from  the  town,  and  the  Inspector.  I  am 
her  first  real  lodger,  and  she  clung  to  me,  "  You 
stayed  a  month  in  Browns  Town ! "  she  lamented. 
"  Oh,  but  you  know  I  have  a  great  many  friends  in 
Browns  Town."  "  You  would  have  as  many  here  as 
soon  as  it  was  known,"  said  she. 

You  may  wonder  why  she  has  this  passion  for  me, 


LAST   YEAKS  413 

seeing  I  only  passed  one  night  at  her  horrid  lodgings 
in  1902;  —  but  such  is  my  fatal  fascination  in  this 
island.  Miss  Moses'  ground  for  worship  was  merely 
that  I  didn't  stop  at  all  at  Ulster  Springs,  passing 
through  the  previous  time.  Another  good  bed,  and 
the  reason  I  carry  on  so  about  the  bed,  is,  that  at  Dry 
Harbour  is  a  gridiron,  and  at  Browns  Town  disgrace- 
ful, hard  and  also  untidy.  There  were  two  ink-spots 
on  my  pillow  by  which  I  recognised  it  for  ten  days 
before  leaving.  At  Falmouth  the  sheets  were  of 
clean,  coarse  linen,  with  the  perfume  of  a  kind  of 
dried  sticks  they  have  instead  of  lavender.  I  saw  the 
Great  Bear  for  the  first  time  there.  You  know  the 
Pole  Star  is  very  low,  so  near  the  tropics,  and  the 
Bear  below  the  line  of  hills  generally,  but  at  midnight 
there  it  was  reared  f 

up  like  this  over  the  jt 

Carib.  Sea.     A  small  >*— ->x< 

niece  of  Mrs.  J.  came        *{ 
and   bored    me    inces-          Sf 
santly  there,  sitting  in 
my  room  all  the  P.M. 
Another     pale     child 
who  lives  in  the  P.  O. 
brought     a     cigar-box 
full  of  her  treasures  to 
show  me,  some  shells 
she  had  covered  with  tinfoil,  a  few  coins  consisting 
of  an  English  ha'penny,  and  one  of  our  nickels,  and 
wanted  me  to  buy  post-cards  of  Falmouth,  which  I 
had  already.     I   didn't  encourage  her  much,   and 
when  she  went  away   (I  believe  I  told  her  to  go 
gently)  I  asked  Niece  if  the  other  was  her  best  friend. 
"  She  is  not  my  friend,  I  do  not  know  her,"  she 
replied. 

But  Niece  was  a  handy  little  thing,  she  took  all  my 
shoes,  three  pairs,  brushed  and  polished  them  and  put 


414         LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

fresh  shoe-strings  in  —  dreadfully  disappointed  when 
I  insisted  on  going  away. 

But  Dan  came  round  at  8  A.  M.  or  thereabouts. 
(Oh,  there  is  a  down-stairs  bath  at  Jacobs',  running 
water  in  a  great  stone  tank  you  can  float  in.)  And 
we  drove  along  without  adventure  reaching  here  about 
one  o'clock.  It  is  sugar-cane  country  along  the  way. 
The  cane  looks  just  like  our  Indian  corn,  only  very 
likely  it  is  ten  or  twelve  feet  high,  great  fields  on 
either  side  the  road,  very  pretty,  glistening  with  dew 
in  the  distance.  This  sets  the  forests  back  against 
the  hills,  remote,  and  of  course  a  blazing  sun  on  the 
white  road,  but  there  is  a  sea-breeze,  and  in  spots, 
cocoanut-palms  and  thatched-and-wattled  villages,  and 
little  dark  children  playing  naked  in  the  surf.  The 
bay  and  shore  approaching  Montego  are  lovely,  and 
by  and  by  we  rattle  through  the  town  and  up  Church 
Street  to  the  hospitable  house  —  and  my  worthy  fat 
ladies.  I  have  described  it  lots  of  times.  It  is  not 
too  hot  here,  everything  is  very  comfortable,  even  re- 
fined, the  table  beautifully  served,  lots  of  heavy 
old  family  silver,  too  much  to  eat  .  .  . 

I  must  leave  you  at  last,  I  want  to  read  over  all 
my  letters. 

LOVING  SUSAN. 

To  Miss  ELLEN  D.  HALE 

MALVEBN,  February  8,  1906,  8  A.M., 
SWEET  PLACE,  "  SUSAN'S  ROOST." 
DEAR  NELLY,  —  I  have  just  written  your  father  a 
little  letter  for  his  private  ear,  but  now  I  must  begin 
on  my  great  yarn  of  adventures,  some  of  my  greatest 
in  Jamaica  or  anywhere.     I  have  been  on  a  horse ! ! 
I  want  to  write  this  to  you  specially,  for  I  kept  think- 
ing of  you  and  our  Lily  (once  Rogers)  and  what  fun 
we  should  have  had  out  of  it.     As  for  the  special 


LAST   YEAKS  415 

horse  part,  I  want,  if  I  don't  change  my  mind,  to 
write  that  for  Polly  Weeden,  if  I  do  you  shall  see 
that  opus  at  Matunuck  next  summer.  But  in  this  I 
intend  to  cover  the  whole  ground  of  which  that  is 
but  an  episode. 

You  see  I  left  Orange  Hill  on  Thursday,  Febru- 
ary 1,  7  A.  M.,  just  a  week  ago,  and  have  not  so  to 
speak  drawn  rein  since.  It  is  perfectly  lovely  there, 
but  (as  usual  you  remark)  I  was  glad  to  get  away, 
for  there  is  no  atom  of  privacy  in  that  most  excellent 
house,  one  is  continually  in  evidence,  in  fact,  that  is 
the  trouble  with  Jamaica  travelling.  If  I  had  a  com- 
panion I  should  be  less  beset  by  over-kind  hosts, — 
but  then,  —  the  companion  would  bore  me,  as  much 
as  the  hosts  do  now. 

"  Miss  Hale,  you  sneezed  in  the  night  Alice  must 
close  your  windows  this  evening  "  —  and  so  she  did ; 
of  course  I  opened  them,  but  everybody  heard  me  in 
the  house  and  I  was  reproved  next  day —  (but  I  am 
wasting  time).  Another  thing  is  that  everybody  ob- 
jects to  everything  I  mean  to  do,  —  because  they  want 
to  keep  me  (and  my  two  guineas),  thus:  Miss  Ena, 
late  the  evening  before,  came  out  saying :  "  Father 
says  it  is  much  farther  to  Windsor  than  you  think. 
It  is  a  dreadful  place  to  get  to.  He  has  been  there ; 
there  is  nothing  to  see,  and  it  will  cost  you  getting 
there  a  great  deal"  (it  did  cost  £2,  but  that  was  none 
of  their  business.  But  I  must  get  on).  My  nice 
buggy  was  at  the  door,  this  was  Thursday,  at  7.  Oh 
another  thing.  It  had  been  raining  pretty  consecu- 
tively for  a  week  so  Miss  Fanny  said,  "  Shall  you 
go  if  it  re-ans  ? "  and  Miss  Julia  said :  "  With  your 
cold  (that  sneeze)  you  must  not  go  if  it  re-ans" 
(rains).  "Oh,  I  guess  it  won't  rain,"  said  I,  and 
sure  enough  it  did  n't  and  Philip  of  Wallace's  Livery, 
me  and  the  horses,  started  down  their  terrific  hill. 
My  trunk  (this  was  another  bone  of  contention)  had 


416    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

gone  by  rail  to  Ipswich.  Alfred,  of  Mrs.  Aaron's, 
had  taken  it  with  me  to  the  station  day  before,  where 
I  paid  one  shilling,  sixpence,  and  had  the  receipt. 

It  was  pretty  driving  out  of  Montego  Bay,  away 
from  the  sea  now,  and,  soon  after  leaving  "  Adelphi," 
getting  into  the  thick  woods  of  Trelawney.  In  fact 
it  is  twenty-two  miles,  and  with  our  good  horses  took 
just  four  hours,  without  the  slightest  fatigue.  We 
went  through  the  gates  of  Windsor  Pen  five  miles, 
before  reaching  the  Great  House,  all  the  way  over  a 
road  all  grass  except  red  ruts  for  the  horses,  immense 
great  trees  on  every  side,  and  their  own  cattle  graz- 
ing. By  and  by  a  brawling  river  was  flowing  along, 
deep  malachite  or  rather  jade,  with  swirling  curves, 
overhung  with  rose-apple,  a  sort  of  willow  they  have 
for  such  purposes.  An  inner  gate  brought  us  to  the 
Common,  about  as  big  as  Boston  Common,  and  at  the 
back  of  it,  framed  in  forest  the  sweet  house  where 
the  J.  Donald  Hills  live,  sweet  people  I  met  by 
chance  at  Browns  Town,  where  they  came  to  a  ball, 
perhaps  I  told  you.  She  was  determined  to  have  me 
see  Windsor,  and  here  I  was.  They  are  entirely 
Scotch,  not  a  Jamaica  touch  about  them.  I  have 
never  lived  with  such  a  real  Scotch  accent  as  theirs, 
they  have  scones,  and  all  sorts  of  Scotch  practices. 
Very  refined,  intelligent,  in  fact  delightful  people; 
she  is  small  and  very  gentle  with  large  blue  eyes,  her 
manner  as  gentle  as  Mrs.  Matlack,  though  she  is  the 
most  determined  little  creature,  she  rules  him  with 
a  rod  of  iron,  and  you  will  see  how  she  put  me 
through.  She  has  had  seven  children,  six  alive,  three 
girls  now  in  Elgin,  Scotland,  at  school,  two  nice  little 
things  here  at  Windsor,  and  a  great  big  boy  on  his 
bare  legs,  about  to  be  two  on  the  last  day  of  Febru- 
ary. All  happy,  joyous,  well  employed,  healthy,  no 
Jamaica  malarial  repining.  As  for  J.  Donald,  he  is 
a  perfect  dear.  He  is  more  like  Mr.  Weeden  than 


LAST  YEARS  417 

anything  else,  —  but  a  Scotch  edition,  you  under- 
stand. When  he  goes  out  in  the  morning  to  look  after 
cattle  (over  one  hundred  head  of  various  beasts)  all 
the  hens  tag  after  him,  and  it  seems  part  of  his  busi- 
ness to  give  them  water  out  of  a  cocoanut-husk  on  top 
of  a  wall;  he  is  here,  but  not 
always  dressed  in  an  old  yel- 
low jacket  with  sort  of  pink 
fustian  breeches,  and  shocking 
boots  which  he  kicks  off,  and 
puts  on  others,  on  account  of 
the  wet  grass,  and  he  walks 
with  a  slight  crook  at  the  knees 
through  being  so  much  on  a 
horse.  In  fact  he  is  generally 
on  a  horse  when  the  hens  are  following  him  (but  this 
time  he  happened  to  be  on  foot),  and  calling  out 
orders  in  a  very  Scotch  voice,  a  rapturous  man.  But 
he  reads,  and  thinks  great  things;  takes  the  Weekly 
Times  and  is  greatly  interested  in  their  present  poli- 
tics. I  'm  sorry  to  say  he  called  Gladstone  an  "  auld 
fule,"  and  thinks  "wot  a  mess  they  made  in  South 
Afriky."  He  has  Green's  "Short  History  of 
England"  at  hand,  and  used  to  read  Macaulay's 
"Essays,"  but  the  print  of  his  edition  is  now  too 
fine  for  him.  If  you  could  see  the  nature  of 
their  lamps  you  wouldn't  wonder.  The  house  is  a 
delight,  all  on  one  floor  like  the  others  I  have 
described.  She  paints  a  little  (pas  mal)  in  water- 
colours,  and  had  decorative  training  at  a  school 
(Scotch)  like  South  K.  Well  here  I  remained  Thurs- 
day, Friday,  Saturday  and  Sunday  with  the  kindest 
hospitable  people,  driving  through  their  great  pen, 
calling  one  day  (in  the  buggy)  on  the  Plunketts  at 
Fontabelle,  a  large  sugar  estate  about  ten  miles  off 
in  the  same  forest,  —  J.  Donald  in  good  clothes,  and 
tan  shoes! — or  walking  in  and  about  their  own 


418        LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

woods  —  but  what  do  you  think !  She  made  me  get 
up  on  a  horse  to  go  and  see  things  too  difficult  for 
walking,  a  terrible  business  to  boost  me  there  from  a 
chair,  and  to  wedge  my  fat  leg  between  the  pommels. 
The  horse  was  most  gentle,  and  we  saw  wonderful 
things;  I  saw  eight  green  parrots  fly  out  of  a  cham- 
pak  tree,  and  I  saw  for  the  first  time  the  way  choco- 
late grows,  not  cocoa,  which  seems  is  a  root  and  en- 
tirely different,  whereas  chocolate  is  a  great  tree  with 
flowers  growing  out  of  the  bark,  and  great  nuts  in  a 
pod  (which  rats  eat).  Now  on  the  Monday  it  was  ar- 
ranged that  I  should  depart  going  through  to  Troy  up 
what  we  call  a  canyon,  chiefly  on  their  estate,  no  road 
but  a  narrow  path,  and  I  was  to  go  on  a  donkey,  but 
what ! ! !  at  the  last  moment  no  donkey  was  to  be  had 
and  I  was  put  up  on  Nelson,  a  great  horse  I 

Here  follows  the  account  of  that  trip,  which  I  mean 
to  write  for  Polly.  Instead  of  being  nine  miles,  to 
take  three  hours,  it  was  fifteen  miles  and  took  nine 
hours.  We  constantly  had  to  cut  away  trees  which 
had  fallen  across  the  path  with  a  great  cutlass  we  had, 
and  six  or  seven  times  did  I  have  to  get  off  Nelson 

for  them  to  take  the 
saddle  off  and  lead  him 
under  this  great  slant- 
ing tree.  Then  I  had 
to  stand  on  extinct 
rocks  of  coral  forma- 
tion and  be  shoved  by 
main  force  up  on  to 
Nelson  again.  Dear 
man,  J.  Donald  Hill, 
went  before  on  his  "pow-ny,"  but  off  constantly  to 
tend  me,  then  came  Manuel,  about  Maurice's  size, 
with  my  Angel  on  his  head,  carrying  my  umbrella, 
then  Downer  on  foot,  leading  Nelson,  and  then  me  on 
top  of  Nelson.  It  was  very  beautiful  and  wonderful, 


LAST   YEAKS  419 

very  climby-climby  going  up  steep  precipices,  except 
going  down  them.  My  hat  was  in  a  flat  package 
slung  over  Downer's  shoulder.  It  looks  finely  since. 
When  we  came  out  at  Coventry  Water,  a  sort  of 
respite  where  Windsor  ends  and  Troy  begins,  merely 
a  field  full  of  bananas,  no  path, — Mr.  Hill  returned  to 
his  spouse  and  home.  He,  you  know,  never  dreamed 
it  would  be  so  rough,  for  a  man  from  Troy  had  as- 
sured them  the  bush  was  all  cleared  away  (not 
much!).  "Oh,  my,"  said  J.  Donald,  "I  didna 
dream  there  could  be  sic  nairve  (nerve)  in  a  leedy 
of  yore  age."  And  when  I  bade  him  tell  Mrs.  Hill 
I  enjoyed  it,  he  shook  his  head,  "  I  shall  na  tell  her 
the  half  on  't,  it  were  too  tarrible  for  her  to  hear" 
(but  Downer  will  tell  her  fast  enough,  and  more  than 
J.  Donald  knows).  For  we  rode  into  the  town  of 
Troy,  in  a  pouring  rain  with  thunder,  and  me  and 
Nelson  made  this  appearance 
from  behind.  This  is  my  red 
Algerine  haik  pinned  round  me 
dripping,  my  hair  down  my 
back,  dripping,  my  combs  all 
lost  (but  one).  But  it  was  so 
lovely  to  be  pacing  along  a  level 
path,  through  the  grass,  that  I 
did  n't  mind,  and  there  were  no 
inhabitants.  When  we  came  to 
the  P.  O.  I  asked  if  there  was 
any  letter  for  me,  and  they 
yelled  out  "Yes,"  and  that  (the  P.  O.)  was  the 
lodging,  and  lo !  round  the  corner  in  front  of  the 
P.  O.  sate  David  in  my  buggy,  from  Malvern,  with 
the  horses  resting  in  the  P.  O.  barn.  This  was  four- 
thirty  in  the  afternoon.  My  friend,  Anne  Moses, 
post-mistress  of  Ulster  Springs,  had  written  to  Troy 
friends  to  look  out  for  me.  I  was  taken  from  Nelson 
more  dead  than  alive,  and  led  up  the  outside  stairs 


420    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

streaming  at  every  pore.  That  was  a  funny  lodgings. 
Guess  I  won't  tell  about  it  now.  I  had  all  my  clothes 
put  in  a  wash-tub ;  next  morning,  wrung  out  and  put 
in  our  buggy,  and  as  we  rode  along,  dried  in  the  sun 
at  our  back.  Oh,  but  that  bed  was  good !  Amongst 
other  things  I  was  a  mass  of  tick-bites.  It  stopped 
raining  in  the  night,  and  David  and  I  had  a  lovely 
morning  to  start;  it  had  now  become  Wednesday, 
1  A.  M.  How  nice  it  was  to  be  on  a  real  road  without 
precipices.  I  had  been  there  before,  through  Tre- 
lawney  to  St.  Elizabeths.  We  drove  only  fifteen  miles 
that  day,  through  Balaklava  to  Siloah,  where  we  put 
up  about  noon  at  Mrs.  Falder's  lodging  —  that's  a 
funny  place ;  David  saw  my  trunk  sitting  at  Appleton 
R.  R.  Station  forwarded  from  Ipswich,  and  we  picked 
it  up  next  day.  When  Mr.  Falder  came  home  from 
"  grounds,"  i.  e.,  hoeing  yams  in  the  field,  his  occupa- 
tion, he  proved  to  be  a  dark  man,  and  what!  but 
Uncle  to  Anne  Moses !  of  Ulster  Springs  P.  O.  He 
used  to  live  in  Browns  Town  in  the  tumbledown 
house  opposite  my  lodgings  with  his  old  sister,  who 
was  the  one  that  used  to  send  me  little  bunches  of 
flowers  every  day,  and  looks  just  like  her.  I  got 
nicely  rested  there,  —  discovered  a  terrific  black-and- 
blue  spot  on  my  pommel  leg.  When  I  came  away 
Mrs.  Falder  gave  me  a  sweet  little  chair,  mahogany, 
I  am  sitting  in  it.  So  that  day,  Wednesday,  we  came 
on  through  Y.  S.  Middle  Quarters,  Lacovia,  Santa 
Cruz,  got  here  at  4  p.  M.  End. 

YOTJE  SUSIE. 

P.  S.  So  don't  think  of  worrying  about  me,  be- 
cause in  the  first  place  I  am  feeling  perfectly  all  right, 
and  had  a  glorious  rest  last  night  on  a  hard  but  rap- 
turous bed;  when  I  climbed  into  it  (it  is  high,  four- 
post  mahogany)  I  exclaimed,  "  O  Rock  of  Dundas, 
cleft  for  me !  "  I  saw  my  Scorpio  and  the  Southern 


LAST   YEAKS  421 

Cross  at  about  five  this  morning.  In  the  second  place, 
I  promise  not  to  do  any  more  rash  things ;  the  rest  of 
my  excursions  will  be  either  by  boat  round  to  Kings- 
ton, or  buggy,  or  rail  (most  precarious  of  all).  I 
think  the  Chaneys  will  be  up  here  by  and  by,  —  to 
look  after  me.  It  was  a  foolhardy  trip,  but  I  had  no 
idea  of  it,  should  not  have  dreamed  of  such  an  under- 
taking, and  the  last  thing  I  now  or  ever  desire,  is  to 
be  on  a  horse.  Little  Mrs.  J.  Donald  is  responsible ; 
and  she  really  meant  well.  She  had  every  reason  to 
suppose  the  bush  had  been  cut,  i.  e.,  the  path  cleared 
and  then  besides,  they  had  no  idea  of  my  great  age. 
He  knows  now  full  well  about  my  great  weight,  after 
boosting  me  up  on  the  horse,  and  lifting  me  down. 
But  everybody  here  says  I  am  looking  younger  than 
ever,  and  I  dare  say  the  shaking-up  was  good  for  me. 
But  I  promise  not  to  do  it  again.  Besides,  you  know, 
it  will  be  all  over  long  before  you  get  this,  so  don't 
worry. 

To  Miss  CAROLINE  P.  ATKINSON 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND, 

September  25,  1906. 

DEAR  CARLA,  —  A  perfect  day !  Why  are  you  not 
here!  Sun  streaming  in  at  every  pore  or  door. 
There  was  a  frost  last  night  so  it  feels  good,  the  sun- 
shine. I  have  been  writing  mounds  of  letters,  but 
there  is  ten  minutes  yet  before  Alvin  time.  You 
must,  another  year,  stay  long  enough  to  drink  this  to 
the  lees,  it 's  the  only  dregs  I  like,  the  very  bottom  of 
the  summer.  There  is  skurce  a  cow  stirring;  even 
the  "Otto's"  are  at  rest.  Just  a  lovely  glittering 
sheen  of  solitary  sunshine  from  here  to  Block  Island. 
What  a  contrast  to  your  stirring  life !  It 's  terrible 
to  me  to  think  of  leaving  here.  .  .  .  Good-bye. 
More  anon. 

LOVING  SUSAN. 


422         LETTERS    OF   SUSAN   HALE 

To  MRS.  CHARLES  B.  WELLS 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND, 
September  %G,  1906. 

DEAR  MRS.  WELLS,  —  I  miss  you  so,  I  must  write 
and  tell  you  you  made  the  mistake  of  your  life  to  go 
away  so  soon.  The  weather  is  just  perfect,  spark- 
ling, brilliant,  sunny,  the  happy  autumn  fields  like 
a  dream.  I  feel  wicked  to  have  it  to  myself.  Loisy 
is  making  a  deep  apple-pie.  My  "  gilt-edged  "  ladies 
have  gone,  and  I  have  just  been  passing  one  hour 
I  should  think  buttoning  up  my  back.  First  there 
was  n't  any  loop  in  the  neck,  so  I  took  the  darn  thing 
off,  and  made  a  new  one.  Then  I  started  in  to  button 
it,  and  the  button  came  off  and  rolled  away  some- 
where I  couldn't  find  it.  Then  I  found  another 
(wrong  kind  of)  button  and  sewed  that  on  and  but- 
toned it  into  the  wrong  loop.  Then  I  couldn't  un- 
button that,  and  could  n't  see  it  in  the  glass.  Finally 
I  got  myself  together  without  waiting  for  the  mail- 
man to  do  me  up.  It  began  with  "  D  "  what  I  said 
when  the  button  got  lost. 

I  am  feeling  finely  and  hear  quite  as  well  as  most 
old  ladies,  and  begin  to  think  there  is  good  stuff  in 
me  yet.  I  am  having  a  real  rest,  for  I  'm  Alone  in 
Rhode  Island.  .  .  .  Much  love  from 

SUSAN. 


To  Miss  CAROLINE  P.  ATKINSON 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND, 

October  14,  1906. 

OH,  MISS  CARLA  !  —  You  ought  to  be  here !  I  am 
(or  was)  just  now  sitting  in  the  porch,  sun  well 
south,  and  all  the  sea  glistening  between  me  and 
Block  Island  like  trembling  tinsel.  Mr.  Weeden's 


LAST   YEARS  423 

barn  also  glistens  exactly  the  same,  giving  the  idea 
that  the  tide  has  come  up  to  the  Brury ;  but  as  I  am 
not  an  artist  any  more  that  does  not  trouble  me. 

So  still!  I  feel  as  if  I  and  cows  were  the  only 
things  in  E.  L,  and  warm,  warm  as  summer.  I  have 
on  my  green  rajah  and  not  a  wrap.  It's  durn  cold 
here  though,  mornings ;  as  Loisy  and  I  get  about  our 
business  before  the  sun,  —  and  in  fact  high  time  I 
was  off.  I  am  off,  in  that  I  have  been  packing  all  the 
morning,  that  is  the  worst  part,  separating  the  sheep 
from  the  goats,  everything  all  over  the  house  I  mean 
to  take  is  in  Aunt  Lucretia's  room,  and  the  rest  put 
away,  given  away,  or  burnt  up.  .  .  . 

Such  a  maddening  time  with  (or  without)  their 
bills.  "Will  you  ask  Willard  to  send  his  bill?" 
"  Tom,  did  you  bring  your  bill  ? "  Seems  I  owe  the 
hox-cart  ten  cents  for  square  crackers  and  something 
else  they  can't  remember,  and  that  bill  will  be  chas- 
ing me  round  all  winter,  accumulating  stamps  in 
Morocco,  Asia,  Cannes,  and  Africa.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSAN. 

To  Miss  CAROLINE  P.  ATKINSON 

CANNES,  FEANCE,  January  10,  1907. 
...  I  am  of  course  dressing  a  little  doll.  I 
bought  her  in  a  little  shop  in  a  dreadful  condition 
for  1  franc,  25.  I  immediately  cut  off  all  her 
clothes,  which  were  coarse  and  cheap.  Her  hair  came 
off  with  her  hat,  and  revealed  a  hole  in  her  head 
which  went  down  into  her  stomach  from  which  wires 
come  out  and  held  all  her  works  together,  including 
the  wig.  I  stuffed  her  head  full  of  self-destroying 
cotton,  and  stuck  the  hair  to  it  with  Photo-Library 
paste,  and  now  she  begins  to  look  lovely.  I  watch  the 
little  children  going  by  below  my  window  to  see  how 


424        LETTERS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

to  dress  her,  and  I  have  made  tan  stockings  out  of  an 
old  shoe-string,  and  bought  a  little  tube  of  burnt 
sienna  to  black  her  shoes  with.  She  can  stand  alone 
now,  and  I  am  making  her  underclothes. 

These  are  my  simple  pleasures.  The  food  is  deli- 
cious, I  eat  lots,  read  wicked  French  novels  till 
9  p.  M.,  and  sleep  like  a  top  till  T  A.M.  when  Angele 
comes  in  to  fix  my  (ice-cold)  bath.  Sounds  like 
the  simple  life,  don't  it?  Good  preparation  for 
Matunuck.  Lots  of  love  from 

SUSAN. 
To  MRS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

HOTEL  DE  LA  PLAGE,  April  %,  1907. 

(Pa's  birthday;  he's  85.) 

NOW  CAROLINE  DEAR,  —  I  have  wonderful  things 
to  relate.  Dr.  Mermod,  a  celebrated  aurist,  specialist 
catarrhist,  etc.,  etc.,  of  Lausanne  was  to  come  to 
Cannes  for  one  day ;  and  my  doctor  wrote  him  about 
me,  So  one  day  all  of  a  sudden,  while  I  was  at 
dejeuner,  I  got  word  that  the  great  man  was  coming, 
and  lo!  after  waiting  feverishly  for  him  till  four- 
thirty,  he  burst  in  like  the  Angel  that  troubled  the 
waters  when  least  expected.  My  doctor  was  here  too. 
A  nice,  round,  chubby,  elderly  Angel  he  was,  talking 
volubly  in  Swiss  French,  so  I  was  pretty  smart,  and 
not  deaf,  to  keep  up  with  him.  He  did  all  their  usual 
little  tricks,  —  with  his  watch,  asking  conundrums 
across  the  room,  and  coming  nearer  and  nearer.  I 
can  do  them  pretty  well  now ;  only  suddenly  he  asked 
something  in  English  which  astonished  me  so  I 
couldn't  hear  it.  He  said  " twangtee-f arve "  and  I 
shook  my  head;  he  meant  twenty-five.  Then  he 
darted  away  to  catch  his  five-o'clock  train.  But  was 
a  dear  really;  searched  my  symptoms,  was  truly  en- 
couraging, scrabbled  instructions  for  the  next  eight 
weeks,  and  left  a  recipe  for  some  sour  drops  to  take. 


LAST   YEARS  425 

]STow,  my  dear,  the  facts  are  these,  which  my  doctor 
had  explained  to  me,  and  this  one  corroborates.  My 
ears  are  very  good  ears,  and  one  especially  better  than 
usual  for  old  ladies,  —  what  is  troubling  me  is  roar- 
ing noises  in  my  head.  Seems  this  is  a  common 
malady  to  approaching  old  age,  —  the  arteries  leading 
to  the  head  get  stiffened,  and  it  is  more  difficult  for 
the  blood  to  pass  through  to  the  head,  so  it  don't  like 
to  do  so.  So  the  blood  makes  a  noise  going  through, 
and  the.  ears,  being  right  there  hear  the  noise,  which 
is  disagreeable  for  me.  If  you  give  your  mind  to  it 
you  will  understand.  It  seems  it  is  quite  common  to 
people  growing  old,  and  all  aurists  know  about  it,  and 
I  guess  my  other  doctors  have  known,  only  they  hated 
to  tell  me.  It  was  kind  and  wise  of  my  Doctor 
Bright  to  tell  me.  His  plan  was  to  build  up  my 
"  general  health  "  in  order  to  make  me  able  to  endure 
it,  and  in  fact  I  was  (and  am)  getting  ready  to  get 
used  to  the  noise,  as  one  may  and  does  always  accus- 
tom oneself  to  the  inevitable;  and  Ave  have,  both  of 
us,  got  used  to  worse  things  than  having  a  perpetual 
steam-engine  in  the  top  of  the  head.  But  lo !  now ! 
comes  the  Man  of  Lausanne,  and  says  it  has  in  many 
cases  been  arrested  and  may  be  in  my  case,  with  his 
treatment,  and  my  "remarkably  fine  physical  condi- 
tion," for  a  lady  of  seventy-three.  It's  exciting,  is 
it  not  ?  They  say,  by  the  way,  that  I  shall  live  twenty 
years,  —  anyhow  —  and  so  maybe  I  can  go  and  open 
the  Panama  Canal.  .  .  . 

But  I  want  you  to  know  just  "  where  I  am  at,"  for 
you  are  my  only  comforter  in  this  pass  that  I  have 
come  to.  ... 


426        LETTEKS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

To  MRS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

MATUNUCK,  EHODE  ISLAND,  July  16,  1907. 

MY  DEAE  CAROLINE,  —  I  must  give  you  a  glowing 
account  of  my  circumstances,  they  are  so  fascinating ; 
but  you  know  I'm  a  wreck,  and  it's  impossible  to 
combine  time  and  wits  to  write,  so  I  am  rapidly  ceas- 
ing to  be  a  Lady  of  Letters.  In  the  first  place  I  'm 
deaf  as  a  post,  but  that's  no  matter  compared  with 
my  roaring  ears,  which  makes  my  head  giddy,  and 
makes  me  wobble  when  I  walk.  But  that 's  no  matter 
either,  compared  with  the  fact  that  my  cook  is  dead, 
my  celebrated  Loisy !  Also,  my  ram  is  dead,  the  old 
hydraulic  ram  that  used  to  throw  water  from  the 
pond  to  my  tank  in  the  top  of  the  house.  I  have  a 
brand-new  (and  hideous)  wind-mill  instead,  but  it 
don't  wind  worth  a  cent.  It  comes  between  me  and 
my  lovely  pond,  spoiling  the  view  utterly.  I  see  it 
now  from  my  window  with  its  tongue  hanging  out, 
not  doing  a  darned  thing;  while  Mary,  my  house- 
maid, is  hauling  water  in  pails  and  tugging  them  up 
to  the  top-storey  to  the  empty  tank. 

I  have  a  new  waitress,  a  foaming  idiot ;  she  started 
in  to  cook,  but  she  can't  cook,  so  I  have  another,  but 
the  new  one  took  to  her  bed  to-day,  so  Twoomey 
(that's  the  Idiot,  her  name  is  Minnie  Twoomey) 
cooked  the  breakfast  while  I  set  the  table.  I  've  got 
the  parents  here,  and  Nelly,  and  Miss  Clark,  Pa's 
secretary,  and  Polly  Smith  (nee  Weeden)  and  her 
nice  little  baby  that  Pa  christened  on  Saturday,  and 
the  baby's  nurse,  and  its  father,  Nat.  Smith,  who  is 
a  dear,  and  carves  the  turkey  on  Sundays. 

Well,  you  see,  I  came  here  on  the  20th  June  with 
Mary  Keating  and  the  Foaming  Idiot,  and  these 
others  came  a  couple  of  days  later.  Owing  to  Loisy's 
decease  (though  her  excellent  husband,  George,  does 
the  chores,  comes  and  makes  the  kitchen  fire,  cuts  the 


LAST   YEARS  427 

hay,  etc.,  etc.,  every  morning,  and  goes  away)  every- 
thing was  lost  as  you  may  imagine,  and  owing  to  the 
death  of  Pa  Browning  who  (did  formerly)  all  my  er- 
rands, nobody  but  me  knew  where  anything  came 
from.  After  a  day  or  two,  I  took  to  my  bed,  —  an 
awful  period  when  there  was  nothing  to  eat  in  the 
house,  when  the  cook  used  to  ask  Mr.  Weeden  for  salt 
pork  and  give  orders  to  the  mail-man  to  kill  a  lamb, 
etc.  They  had  no  carving-knives  in  those  days, 
because  Loisy  had  hid  them  last  year  under  my  bro- 
cade gown,  locked  up  in  the  cedar  clothes-chest,  and  it 
proved  I  was  sleeping  on  the  saw  which  was  put  be- 
tween my  mattresses  for  the  winter,  on  account  of 
rust.  You  can  easily  see  that  in  this  situation  I  had 
to  get  well,  and  I  am  well ;  and  things  are  now  going 
like  a  breeze,  all  except  the  wind-mill. 

I  rose  up  from  my  bed  one  day  and  telegraphed 
to  Mrs.  O'Brien,  who  provides  me  always  with  maids, 
thus:  "Must  send  seven-dollar  cook  without  fail 
Wednesday  usual  train  meet  Miss  Nelly  Back  Bay 
station,"  for  Nelly  and  her  ma  were  coming  that  day, 
and  they  brought  along  the  funniest  little  old  lady 
you  ever  saw.  The  first  thing  she  did  here  was  to 
sit  down  in  an  ivy  bush,  and  get  poisoned  all  over ;  so 
her  poor  old  face  is  like  a  volcano  to  look  upon,  but 
she  cooks  splendidly,  even  better  than  Louisa.  Of 
course  there  was  nothing  in  my  pantry  and  larder  for 
her  to  cook  off,  with,  by,  through  or  because ;  but  by 
dint  of  sending  to  Wakefield  (five  miles)  by  every 
moving  thing  that  was  going  that  way,  I  have  now 
got  the  house  full  of  tin  pans,  skewers,  salt  pork, 
wooden  pails,  clothes-lines,  pepper,  spaghetti,  corn- 
starch,  rolling-pins,  jam,  rye  meal,  and  there  is  a 
constant  procession  arriving  of  roasting  beef,  lamb, 
broilers,  turkeys,  fish,  lard,  butter,  and  eggs.  Three 
cows  are  tethered  in  the  cellar  to  be  milked  at  any 
moment  and  there's  a  new  box  of  one  dozen  salad 


428        LETTERS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

oil,  and  some  sand  soap.  What  makes  it  the  more 
interesting  is  that  (of  course  you  know),  I  have  no 
money  on  account  of  Homestake  burning  up,  and  also 
that  I  forget  everything  now,  and  go  about  with  little 
lists  in  my  hand  which  I  put  down  in  the  wrong  place 
all  the  time.  There 's  one  comfort ;  that  I  have  some 
very  good  clothes,  and  that  owing  to  losing  twenty 
pounds  and  more,  my  figure  is  a  dream  of  loveliness, 
my  hips  are  a  regular  willow-pattern.  Also,  our 
native  strawberries  are  just  in  perfection  now,  a 
month  late,  and  we  live  on  them  at  every  meal,  and 
my  red  roses  that  grow  up  in  my  little  lot  in  the 
woods  are  late  also,  and  Mamy  Tucker  brings  me 
great  masses  of  them  every  day  or  two. 

Pa  Hale  is  wonderful  this  year,  very  good  about 
signing  checks,  very  well  and  active,  and,  dear  man, 
full  of  compassion  for  me.  He  talks  all  the  time  to 
cover  the  fact  that  I  don't  know  what  they  are  talk- 
ing about,  and  is  altogether  a  dear.  He  is  closely 
guarded  by  his  wife,  his  daughter,  Nelly,  and  his 
faithful  Abby,  the  secretary,  who  incidentally  brings 
him  his  early  morning  coffee  when  the  Idiot  has  for- 
gotten to  get  up. 

I  also  add,  for  I  see  I  've  omitted  it,  that  my  house- 
maid, Mary  Keating,  is  perfection.  She  is  what  is 
called  "  A  Superior  Person,"  and  what 's  more,  she 
is  superior.  She  takes  the  whole  charge  of  the  top- 
storey,  and  all  the  beds  and  bed-linen,  the  wash  and 
all  that  in  them  is,  and  besides  that,  does  all  that  I 
fail  to  do  when  I  have  temporarily  lost  my  mind. 
Write  me  how  you  like  this  letter,  and  believe  that 
I  am  as  ever 

YOUE  JOYOUS  SUSY. 


LAST   YEAES  429 

To  MBS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

MATUNTJCK,  ERODE  ISLAND,  August  5, 1907. 
...  I  am  pretty  well  now,  and  only  rather  deaf, 
compared  with  your  dear  mother,  whom  I  look  back 
upon  as  a  model  of  cheerfulness  and  courage;  and 
now  you  tell  me  she  had  my  noises,  still  more  so. 
How  little  we  realise  things  till  they  come  upon  us 
personally.  I  believe  I  have  been  a  perfect  fiend  of 
indifference,  even  intolerance,  of  deaf  people,  and 
now  it's  me.  Well,  I  am  determined  to  become  the 
most  Delightful  Deaf  Old  Lady  that  ever  existed  and 
I  am  practising  to  that  end,  with  such  examples  in 
mind  as  your  mother's,  but  I  don't  hit  it  off  yet  very 
well.  Takes  time.  Yesterday  (there  was  a  horde  of 
people  here  in  the  afternoon  to  tea),  I  tried  the  plan 
of  talking  incessantly  myself,  so  as  to  hide  the  fact 
I  did  n't  hear  anything  they  said,  the  result  was  no- 
body paid  the  slightest  attention  to  my  (doubtless 
brilliant)  remarks,  but  turned  their  heads  upon  the 
millions  of  automobiles  that  now  shoot  by  us  on  the 
newly  torn-up-and-put-back  road  below  the  house,  and 
said  "  m-m-m  ? "  when  I  paused  to  take  breath.  One 
plan  is  to  keep  me  reading  aloud  (out  of  the  Tran- 
script} but  that  palls  in  the  long  run.  No  matter,  — 
I  can  write  still.  There  are  several  things  to  be 
thankful  for  and  one  is  not  to  have  been  in  Boston 
for  Home  Week.  .  .  . 

YOUR  LOVING  SlISIE. 

To  Miss  CHARLOTTE  A.  HEDGE 

MATUNTJCK:,  EHODE  ISLAND, 

September  7,  1907. 

DEAR  SARLOTS,  —  I  am  enchanted  with  your  letter, 
not  that  I  am  glad  that  you  are  also  etwas  schwer 
Jidrig;  nor  that  I  want  you  to  be  deaf,  but  I  think 


430    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

it  is  excellent  for  us  to  be  alike,  and  able,  as  it  were, 
to  swap  jack-knives  with  our  impressions.  Yours  are 
exactly  like  mine,  only  I  don't  believe  you  were  ever 
half  so  naughty  as  I  have  always  been  about  deaf 
folks.  Gran'ma  Perkins,  you  know,  was  a  pretty 
trying  specimen  with  her  "  m-m-m-  ?  ? "  And  then 
the  Bursleys'  Aunt  (my  age)  Somebody  that  used  to 
sit  in  a  corner,  unblinded  by  the  flashes  of  our  wit. 
I  always  wanted  to  kill  them  all. 

You  must  know  that  I  had  been  thinking  of  be- 
coming an  example  of  the  Perfect  Old  Lady,  for,  like 
you,  I  love  growing  old,  and  have  been  in  the  habit 
of  saying  that  each  age  I  came  to  was  the  most  inter- 
esting yet.  But  here  comes  roaring  ears,  and  knocks 
me  flat.  Nobody  ever  told  me  about  that  (perhaps 
they  did,  and  I  paid  absolutely  no  attention.  In  fact 
Carry  Weld  says  her  dear  old  mother,  —  she  was  a 
plucky  example,  —  used  to  have  awful  noises  in  her 
ears  all  the  time).  But  no  matter.  I  am  now  deter- 
mined to  acquire  the  art  of  being  a  Perfectly  Fasci- 
nating Old  Deaf  Person.  This  resolution  of  mine 
furnishes  me  with  ample  occupation,  —  often  lacking 
to  the  aged,  —  watching  out  to  see  that  I  don't  get 
cross  or  suspicious  or  inquisitive,  or  those  things.  I 
was  thinking,  you  know,  of  becoming  bed-ridden  as 
soon  as  I  got  bald,  but  now  there 's  no  fun  lying  in 
bed  with  roaring  ears. 

We  are  having  a  rather  funny  time  here  now,  with 
Bartlett  Gray,  who  can't  understand  me  and  I  can't 
hear  him,  and  Carla  and  Polly  and  Nat.,  who  mouth 
at  me  in  the  Jeanie  language  and  bellow  at  him  in 
Old  Style,  and  forget  and  whisper  to  each  other  the 
most  public  remarks. 

But  to  return  to  your  much  enjoyed  letter;  speak- 
ing of  teeth,  something  happened  to  mine  lately,  and 
I  had  to  send  them  to  Piper  in  Boston.  When  they 
came  back,  by  mail,  I  said,  "  Oh,  that 's  my  teeth." 


LAST   YEAKS  431 

Alvin,  the  mail  carrier,  promptly  replied,  "Mine 
have  never  travelled  so  far."  The  parcel  was  regis- 
tered, and  I  had  to  sign  for  it.  I  also  have  many 
other  afflictions  (not  altogether  due  to  old  age,  that 
is,  not  all  of  them).  I  can't  remember  anything,  and 
especially  nouns  and  names,  and  think  constantly  of 
my  dear  mother's  "  Mrs.  What  's-his-name."  Then, 
besides,  you  know,  I  haven't  any  money,  for  my 
chief  investment  has  gone  to  Potty-wotty  (for  the 
moment;  they  say  it  will  rise  again)  ;  and  as  every- 
thing will  happen  in  a  bunch,  they  write  me  from 
Jordan  and  Marsh  that  my  fur  cape  will  cost  twenty- 
one  dollars  to  be  re-lined ! !  My  fur  cape !  —  with 
which  I  have  passed  these  ten  years  in  the  Tropics, 
giving  out  now  just  as  I  am  planning  a  winter  in 
Chicago.  I  feel  like  King  Lear  out  in  a  thunder- 
storm. 

I  must  stop,  and  begin  to  write  my  Series : 

1.  How  to  grow  old  Gracefully 

2.  "     "      "       "    Pluckily 

3.  "     "      "       "    though  Deaf 

with  illustrations  and  examples  from  friends  and 
contemporaries. 

Mr.  Weeden,  by  the  way  (who  sends  his  cordial 
regards  after  hearing  your  letter),  is  a  wonder.  He 
is  my  age  (seventy-three),  has  all  his  wits,  teeth,  etc., 
etc.,  and  rides  and  swims  daily. 

YOUR  TUZOSH. 

To  MKS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

HOTEL  THOKNDIKE,  October  3,  1907. 

.  .  .  Meanwhile  I  am  here  a  prey  to  doctors,  and, 

in  spite  of  them  am  really  much  better.    My  head  is 

not  so  wobbly,  and  I  actually  yesterday  walked  all 

the  way  from  Mass.  Ave.  to  the  Garden,  and  to  this 


432    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

house,  through  the  Park  on  Commonwealth  Ave.  It 
was  lovely  in  the  shade  of  those  huge  trees  (we  saw 
them  planted)  and  fat  pigeons  were  bouncing  about, 
fed  by  small,  pale  boys  with  crutches.  The  autos 
rattle  me,  though,  crossing  streets  and  tracks.  .  .  . 

Dr.  Leland  (354  Commonwealth  Ave.)  is  getting 
interested  in  my  ears ;  and  he  really  makes  me  hear 
better.  He  treats  my  head  as  a  large  pincushion, 
and  drives  spikes  into  it,  from  any  old  place,  and 
then  blows  things  through,  that  may  come  out  any- 
where. I'm  not  so  very  deaf,  you  know,  I'm  per- 
fectly good  for  a  tete-a-tete  conversation,  but  I  don't 
hear  the  talk  at  a  table,  and  for  that  reason,  I  regard 
my  career  as  a  luncher  and  diner-out,  at  an  end.  But 
I  've  had  a  good  deal  of  fun  out  of  it,  have  n't  I  ?  So 
why  pine ;  —  like  skating,  —  and  the  waltz,  —  glad 
of  it  None  of  my  doctors  take  the  slightest  interest 
in  my  roarings,  which  make  me  feel  like  living  in  a 
railway  station,  —  or,  I'll  tell  you — like  that  night 
we  passed  at  a  junction  in  California,  with  trains  in- 
cessantly bumping  in  and  out  of  our  ears,  don't  you 
remember  ?  When  I  'm  alone,  I  am  perfectly  happy 
(always  was)  because  my  noises  are  like  distant 
waves  on  a  beach,  but  whenever  anyone  comes,  the 
clatter  begins.  However,  I  'm  learning  not  to  mind, 
at  any  rate,  not  to  mention  the  subject,  and  I  dare  say 
I  shall  become  attached  to  my  bellowings.  You  see, 
dear,  I  never  by  any  accident  lose  grip  of  my  excel- 
lent spirits,  which  don't  go  back  on  me.  I  think  I 
inherit  them  from  my  mother,  who  died  just  a  year 
younger  than  I  am  now,  at  an  advanced  age. 

There  are  compensations.  I  have  lost  thirty 
pounds  and  my  "  shape  "  is  a  dream  of  rapture,  "  un 
vrai  mannequin"  the  modiste  in  Cannes  called  it, 
and  P.  S.  Glover  (who  is  making  over  my  black  bro- 
cade gown  I  wore  last  in  1904)  is  enchanted  with 
me.  My  eyes  are  perfectly  good,  the  only  reason  I 


LAST   YEAES  433 

don't  read  more  is  that  these  books  bore  me,  they  are 
printing  now.  Oh!  but  my  teeth.  Dr.  Piper  has 
them  for  the  moment,  for  a  little  catch  broke  off  that 
attached  them  to  what  I  call  the  bed-post.  So  I  spend 
a  good  deal  of  time  with  Piper,  but  that  will  be  all 
right.  I  can't  remember  anything,  but  that  is  no 
matter,  it's  people's  names  that  bother  me,  and  (all 
summer)  what  there  was  for  dinner.  In  fact  run- 
ning the  house  at  Matunuck  was  rather  too  much  for 
me,  and  that  it  was  which  brought  me  to  my  recent 
low  estate,  but  I  put  it  through  bravely  and  all  the 
people  enjoyed  themselves  and  me.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  MBS.  WILLIAM  G.  WEIJ> 

CHICAGO,  December  31  (old  1907}. 

DEAE  CAREY,  —  You  splendid  Gal!  Your  letters 
are  worth  $100,000,000  apiece  and  put  me  in  the 
finest  spirits,  especially  this  one,  which  I  will  re- 
spond to  at  once,  while  the  foam  is  at  my  mouth. 

The  strange  part  of  all  this  is  that  I  'm  in  the  finest 
spirits  all  the  time.  It  must  be  that  the  humourous 
side  is  so  on  top;  this  poor  old  wreck  sitting  off  by 
herself,  in  a  hole,  enjoying  herself.  .  .  . 

Yesterday  was  a  fiendish  day  here.  We  have  the 
vilest  assortment  of  all  different  kinds  of  weather, 
and  I  am  so  scared  of  falling  down  and  breaking  my 
hip  and  having  to  stay  in  bed  the  rest  of  my  life 
because  it  can't  be  pieced,  like  three  old  ladies  (my 
contemporaries  at  eighty-five)  I've  lately  heard  of, 
let  alone  grippe  which  has  arrived  here  from  Boston, 
that  I  don't  stir  outdoors.  But  people  come  and 
play  with  me  in  auto-scrabbles,  and  take  me  to 
things.  .  .  . 

Meanwhile  I  had  a  lovely  Christmas  in  my  corner 
like  Little  Jack  Homer.  People  sent  me  flowers  and 


434    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

cards  and  plants  in  pots  and  I  went  to  two  Christmas 
trees,  and  had  my  own  dinner,  a  delicious  turkey, 
with  a  little  plum-pudding  and  holly  stuck  in  it  (and 
a  pint  of  champagne).  My  "flat"  is  bedecked  with 
holly.  I  have  more  books  to  read  than  I  can  stomach. 
By  the  way,  I  sent  you  Gelett  Burgess  purely  for  the 
pictures  of  old  San  Francisco  he  describes  so  well. 
I  kept  thinking  of  you  as  I  was  reading  it,  —  so  it 
was  nothing  to  do  with  Christmas,  dear.  I  don't 
make  presents,  but  Salty  sent  me  from  the  office  ten 
crisp  dollar-bills  which  I  spread  abroad  to  elevator 
boys  and  janitors  and  the  like.  I'm  reading  now, 
"  Sheaves,"  which  begins  charmingly,  but  E.  F.  Ben- 
son is  apt  to  peter  out  towards  his  end.  Mrs.  Delano 
has  lent  me  a  rapturous  "  Biography  of  Mrs.  James 
H.  Perkins"  by  Edith  Cunningham,  don't  you 
know  ?  Have  you  seen  it  ?  It 's  only  for  private  con- 
sumption, full  of  old-time  talk,  and  all  manner  of 
Forbes  and  Channings  and  Cabots  and  Higginsons 
and  Lymans.  Did  you  read  the  "  Ordeal  of  Marcus 
Ordeyne  "  ?  Kind  of  rattle-pated,  but  amusing.  .  .  . 

Blue!  Chicago  the  same.  The  Tribune  (most 
amusing  paper!)  is  full  of  ghastly  accounts  of  the 
"  Unemployed "  and  their  sufferings,  and  ladies  as- 
sure me  that  the  "well-to-do"  are  giving  up  extra 
servants,  and  pinching  themselves.  .  .  . 

As  to  clothes,  we  are  like  mermaids,  lovely  to  the 
waist,  nothing  farther  except  short  black  skirts. 
Their  functions  are  chiefly  at  clubs  listening  to  papers 
(I  don't  hear  any  of  'em,  but  that's  no  matter),  so 
that  our  tops  only  are  of  any  account.  The  filth  is 
something  fearful.  Cleansing  houses  do  a  driving, 
thriving  business.  You  should  see  my  bath-tub,— 
could  plant  a  garden  in  it,  but  this  dirt  is  not  off  me, 
only  more  put  on.  .  .  .  Lots  of  love,  dear. 

Yours, 
SUSY. 


LAST   YEAKS  435 

To  E.  A.  CHURCH 

137  LINCOLN  PARK  BOULEVARD,  CHICAGO, 

February  4, 1908. 

DEAR  MR.  CHURCH, — I  am  shockingly  behind  in 
literary  correspondence  and  can't  believe  it  is  more 
than  a  month  since  the  date  of  yours  (December  19  !). 
Last  year !  And  now  I  am  enclosing  a  small  check- 
let,  and  acknowledging  the  arrival  of  the  yellow  bag. 
But  I  have  the  joyful  news  that  Homestake  Dividend 
is  safe  in  Wakefield  Trust  Company,  where  they  may 
as  well  be  kept  for  the  present.  You  see  I  am  still 
in  this  "  fearful "  city  —  for  it  has  deserved  that  ad- 
jective of  late,  in  its  very  blizzardy  manners  and  cus- 
toms. I  have  not  set  foot  outdoors  since  a  week  ago 
Thursday,  preferring  to  watch  the  play  of  the  tempest 
from  my  big  window.  A  wonderful  scene  of  sleet 
and  snow  and  fog  and  blast;  people  staggering  over 
slippery  gulfs  holding  on  their  hats,  avoiding  their 
umbrellas,  breaking  their  legs  and  necks.  Midnight 
fires  destroying  theatres,  —  suicides,  murders,  di- 
vorces, in  the  daily  paper,  which  forms  the  chief  part 
of  my  breakfast,  and  mercury  8-zero.  I  went  to  a 
Thomas  concert  on  that  last  outing  in  an  automobile 
with  Mrs.  Delano,  who  is  a  charming  lady  who 
"  holds  me  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand  "  with  thought- 
ful attentions  and  invitations  to  pleasant  functions. 
It  was  cold  even  when  we  left  here;  and  when  we 
came  out  of  the  Symphony  Orchestra  Hall  (you  know 
it  was  planned  by  Theodore  Thomas  and  built  for 
him  —  but  he  died  almost  directly  afterwards),  the 
blizzard  had  begun!  The  broad  street  was  packed 
with  autos  all  waiting  for  their  mistresses  (scarcely 
a  man  to  be  seen  —  they  prefer  the  Saturday  evening 
concert).  Impossible  for  these  to  get  to  the  side- 
walk. Wheels  buzzing  and  whirring,  chauffeurs 


436         LETTEKS    OF   SUSAN   HALE 


LAST   YEAKS  437 

stamping  and  steaming,  snow  flying,  here  and  there 
an  effete  horse  prancing,  —  dark,  dark,  at  four- 
thirty  o'clock,  and  electrics  gleaming  through  the  fog ! 
A  weird  sight!  Two  chauffeurs  clutched  me  and 
led  me  over  the  slippery  side-walk,  pushed  aside  two 
or  three  machines,  and  boosted  me  into  ours,  —  snort- 
ing and  whirring  to  get  off.  My  big  fur  cape  was 
inside  and  in  a  minute  we  were  flying  through  the 
storm  ...  I  am  now  waiting  for  the  arrival  of 
spring  before  another  enterprise  like  this  one. 

Truly  yours, 
SUSAN  HALE. 

To  MBS.  WILLIAM  G.  WELD 

PASS  CHRISTIAN,  MISSISSIPPI, 

March  24, 1908. 

MY  DEARS,  —  Where  are  you  ?  I  must  write  you 
about  this  lovely  funny  little  spot,  and  begin  by  tell- 
ing you  I  'm  better,  not  a  great  deal  better,  but  so 
as  to  be  about,  in  my  lovely  veranda  in  the  sun  in  my 
wrapper  with  my  hair  down.  You  see  we  escaped 
from  Chicago  on  the  somethingth  of  March  (viz., 
Saturday,  February  29)  and  arrived  here  belated  (of 
course  these  southern  E.  K.'s)  long  after  dark  Sun- 
day, and  I  fell  upstairs  into  a  nice  bed  the  next  day 
(twenty-eight  hours  from  Chicago).  I  thought  vol- 
umes of  you  on  the  train,  "  in  the  dining-car,"  or  wal- 
lowing in  the  trough  of  my  section,  but  I  did  n't  write 
you,  did  I  ?  I  think  not.  We  crossed  all  the  rivers 
in  the  Geography  that  rise  in  the  Something  Moun- 
tains and  fall  into  their  own  mouths  or  the  Missis- 
sippi ;  but  chiefly  by  night,  for  our  route,  the  "  Louis- 
ville and  Nashville,"  is  so  arranged  as  to  pass  through 
none  of  the  interesting  cities  of  the  Middle  West. 
Our  object  was  to  get  here;  —  without  improving 
our  minds  if  necessary,  but  Get  Here. 


438    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

It's  a  quiet,  sleepy,  little  place  close  on  the  shore 
of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  which  is  now  placidly  plash- 
ing right  across  the  road.  The  road  is  the  Shell- 
Road,  which,  as  I  conceive,  button-holes  the  bottom 
of  all  the  Southern  States.  The  shells  are  oyster 
shells  and  the  oysters  are  inside  of  us ;  for  our  food 
(sea-food)  is  mainly  oysters,  crabs,  clams,  shrimps, 
redfish,  bluefish,  any  old  or  new  fish,  in  fact  I  con- 
ceive the  Gulf  to  be  one  vast  chowder-pot.  But  the 
chief  thing  is  it's  warm,  warm  as  summer  but  not 
hot.  There  is  a  "  yard  "  in  front  of  me  full  of  bright 
green  grass  and  great  live-oak  trees,  with  white  roses 
in  blossom,  climbing  round  their  trunks.  When  we 
arrived,  these  trees  were  all  shining  with  dark-green 
leaves,  their  winter  garment,  but  now  these  are  all 
fallen,  raked  up  and  burnt  up,  and  the  whole  town 
is  aglow  with  light,  bright,  tender  foliage,  and  blos- 
soms falling  through  the  air  like  green  caterpillars. 
Oh,  it's  enchanting.  I  have  not  seen  any  springs  I 
like  so  well,  and  mind  it 's  March,  of  all  disgusting 
months. 

It's  a  quiet  boarding-house  kept  by  three  genteel, 
decayed  ladies,  in  the  house  of  their  ancestors,  which 
is  full  of  decayed  genteel,  mahogany  furniture.  Our 
room  is  ample  and  comfortable,  with  long  windows 
opening  on  the  "  Gallery  "  up  one  flight.  The  little 
town  is  absolutely  quiet,  only  one  auto  in  it,  and  that 
a  sort  of  elderly  fire-machine.  A  few  cows  and  horses 
stroll  about  the  belt  of  grass  between  me  and  the 
Gulf.  There  are  big  hotels,  but  remote ;  and  the  vil- 
lage consists  of  three  shops  and  the  Post-office.  Ain't 
it  lovely  ?  When  I  say  we,  of  course  I  mean  me  and 
Mary  Keating,  who  shares  my  room,  in  a  corner-bed, 
because  there  wasn't  another.  The  inmates  are 
chiefly  middlish-aged  ladies  with  button-behinds  and 
pompadours  and  only  three  husbands  amongst  them. 
I  can't  hear  or  remember  their  names,  so  I  call  them 


LAST   YEARS  439 

Mrs.  Omaha,  Mrs.  Minneapolis,  Mrs.  Louisville,  for 
they  come  from  these  cities,  —  they  change  every  few 
days,  but  the  type  remains.  They  are  very  kind, 
and  bring  me  wonderful  flowers  out  of  the  woods, 
Cherokee  roses,  violets,  etc.,  etc.  The  drives  are,  or 
is,  monotonous,  along  the  Shell-Road,  which  is  dotted 
with  fine  villas,  later  on,  in  summer,  occupied  by  the 
magnates  of  New  Orleans  with  their  automobiles  and 
sich. 

So  I  rarely  stir  off  the  veranda,  but  eat  fish-food, 
write,  sew,  and  sleep.  I  'm  not  so  very  deaf,  but  the 
racket  in  the  dining-room  prevents  my  joining  in 
"General  Conversation,"  which  I  now  regard  as 
gabble-gabble.  There  are  three  nice  ladies  at  my 
small  table  who  think  I  am  very  funny,  and  so  I  am, 
you  know. 

But  now  the  bottom  is  out,  and  my  passage  is  en- 
gaged for  April  4  in  the  Creole,  steamer  for  New 
York  from  New  Orleans,  and  we  spend  next  week  in 
New  Orleans  to  see  it,  which  I  never  did,  did  you? 
It's  only  five  days  to  N.  Y.  and  I  expect  to  enjoy 
that.  We  shall  arrive  Ma.-nha.tt.fl.Ti  Thursday,  April  9, 
and  I  mean  then  to  let  Mary  run  home  to  her  kind ; 
and  go  myself  to  Olana  to  stay  with  Louis  Church 
in  their  warm  house  till  May  or  thereabouts. 

Yours, 
SUSY. 

To  Miss  CAROLINE  P.  ATKINSON 

Always  yours, 
Susan. 

MATUNUCK,  August  5, 1908. 

DEAREST  CAKLA,  —  I  am  bursting  to  tell  you  about 
our  tempestuous  night,  but  it's  almost  Alvin  time 
and  I  must  scrabble  so  I  have  signed  first  (of  course 
I  can't  spell  in  such  a  flurry). 


440    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

Know :  however,  that  at  two-fifteen  last  night  I  was 
wakened  by  shakings  and  flashings  and  bang-bang- 
ings  and  whirlings  as  if  all  winds  were  loose.  In 
fact  a  terrific  thunderstorm,  worse  we  all  think  than 
those  that  burned  the  barns.  At  first  I  thought  I  had 
stopped  being  deaf,  such  horrid  noises  filled  my  head, 
but  no,  they  only  triumphed  over  my  usual  drums. 
The  room  was  black  with  darkness,  but  every  minute 
or  so  the  panes  flashed  with  white  light  and  zigzags 
of  orange,  and  bang-bang-whang  like  cannons,  and 
sheets  of  water.  The  house  rocked  and  shook  and  re- 
covered itself  like  a  ship  in  a  gale,  and  this  kept  up 
going  on.  We're  thankful  that  Nat.  was  here  to 
man  us;  he  rose  in  his  bed  and  pervaded  the  house 
shutting  windows,  reefing  chairs  (to  be  sure  all  the 
chairs  are  away  being  seated).  He  met  Mary  Keat- 
ing in  her  rescue  work.  Little  Mary  wept,  little  Nat. 
only  thought  it  was  time  to  get  up,  so  he  sate  up  in 
his  crib  and  said,  "  Gar-ga."  A  calm  seemed  to  come, 
and  we  all  turned  over  and  plunged  our  noses  into 
the  sheet  (it  was  hot  you  must  know),  when  bang- 
bang  began  again,  rattly-smash,  zigzag,  flash-flash,  I 
should  think  an  hour  (shouldn't  you,  Polly?  she  is 
sitting  right  here).  Sheets  of  water  fell,  chiefly  into 
my  cellar  as  the  doors  of  it  were  open.  Your  house 
is  all  right.  We  looked  for  it  in  the  morning. 

Yours, 
SUSAN. 

To  Miss  CHARLOTTE  A.  HEDGE 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND, 

August  25,  1908. 

DEAE  SAELOTS,  —  Your  splendid  letter  is  here 
and  I  will  answer  it  now,  on  the  spot  (before  I  for- 
get it,  to  tell  the  truth),  for  my  mound  of  neglected 
letters  is  so  terrible  I  don't  dare  to  look  at  it,  so 


LAST   YEAES  441 

it  gets  worse  and  worse.  All  you  say  about  our 
infirmities  is  most  cheering;  though  it  irritates 
me  to  have  young  people  pretending  that  they  also 
forget  things  (names,  etc.)  as  if  it  were  at  all  the 
same  thing  as  never  remembering  anything!  But 
you  see,  you  and  I  know.  No  matter.  There 's  good 
stuff  in  us  yet,  and  we  can  comfort  ourselves  by  re- 
flecting that  the  things  we  have  forgotten  are  worth 
more  than  all  they  can  remember. 

It  came  yesterday  (your  letter)  in  our  noon-tide 
mail;  and  in  the  afternoon  about  five  I  was  sitting 
by  myself  on  the  front  piaz.  (cooling  off  after  a  wild 
circus  with  the  children  and  my  work-basket,  which 
resulted  in  their  being  taken  off  by  the  nurse,  leaving 
the  work-basket,  and  incidentally  me,  a  wreck}. 
Well,  Mr.  Weeden  dropped  up  the  hill  just  then  and 
sate  down  for  a  good  talk ;  and  I  read  him  your  letter, 
which  pleases  him  much.  He  is  really  quite  wonder- 
ful (just  a  year  younger  than  me).  He 's  got  all  his 
wits  and  things  about  him,  and  has  recently  had 
achieved  a  performance  in  his  mouth  which  secures 
all  his  own  teeth  to  him  for  life.  He  rides  on  a 
horse  he's  got  o'  purpose,  and  he  never  misses  his 
daily  swim,  has  a  fine  appetite  not  in  the  least  de- 
stroyed by  Jeanie's  more  than  ample  table.  He  is 
perfectly  fascinating  with  his  G.  children;  all  chil- 
dren love  him.  He  knows  just  the  right  game  about 
showing  them  his  watch  up  in  his  lap.  He  departed 
after  an  hour's  chat  with  an  ardent  message  of  re- 
membrance for  you.  "  The  Madam,"  as  she  is  called 
in  general  has  had  a  houseful  all  summer.  She  is 
untiring.  .  .  .  Last  Saturday  I  invited  the  whole 
colony  to  Bean  Bags,  but  the  Lord  or  Somebody 
willed  otherwise,  for  it  rained  like  mad,  so  nobody 
could  come  (literally)  and  I  went  to  bed  at  eight 
o'clock. 

YOUB  LOVING  TUZOSH. 


442        LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

To  Miss  GASOLINE  P.  ATKINSON 

ROXBUBY,  MASSACHUSETTS,  October  11,  1908. 

...  I  fancy  you  all  off  to-day  hunting  for  the 
mouth  of  Charles  River  in  Worden's  Pond.  In  my 
day  it  was  like  looking  for  a  needle  in  a  haystack,  — 
but  oh!  how  lovely  winding  in  and  out  that  dark 
stream » and  getting  stuck  sideways  in  any  narrow 
turning.  It  will  be  a  fine  finale  to  your  season. 

Yesterday  Pa  and  I  drove  in  their  New  Parks, 
which  are  very  beautiful,  though  more  conventional 
than  the  Kingston  Road.  They  have  planted  such 
quantities  of  things  with  berries  on  them  one  would 
think  it  their  sole  idea;  the  result  is  rapturous  just 
this  minute  for  there  are  barberries,  lots  more  kinds, 
can't  think  of  the  names  of  them,  —  lots  of  witch- 
hazel  all  in  blossom  now,  and  the  foliage  of  every- 
thing just  calculated  for  autumn  effects.  Our  stable 
sent  two  fat  horses  aitcles  to  a  splendid  open  landau, 
and  Pa  and  I  sat  up  like  King  and  Queen.  Every- 
body knows  him,  and  gazed  with  awe  upon  him.  I 
tried  to  hold  up  my  end  of  the  stick  by  sitting  up 

very  straight  in 
my  pompadour ; 
but  I  regret  to 
say  it  got  wobbly, 
and  my  hat  pre- 
sented this  rakish 
appearance  on  my 
return  to  my 
room.  No  mat- 
ter. But  I  am 
doing  my  hair 
pompadour  every  day,  and  it  looks  quite  fine  only 
the  top  is  a  regular  rat's-nest.  I  hope  to  improve 
upon  it  later. 


LAST   YEAES  443 

It  is  rather  nice  here,  the  family  are  all  so  kind 
and  devoted,  and  I  am  really  feeling  finely.  I  think 
I  'm  getting  used  to  all  my  ailments,  and  don't  mind 
them  so  much.  Fact  is  people  don't  notice  whether 
you  hear  them  or  not.  Jeanie  has  taught  me  a  lot 
of  good  sense  about  this.  .  .  . 

LOVING  SUSAN. 

To  Miss  CAROLINE  P.  ATKINSON 

39  HIGHLAND  STREET,  October  15,  1908. 

DEAR  CARLA,  —  If  I  don't  write  this  now  you  won't 
get  it  before  Sunday,  and  I  want  it  to  be  a  greeting 
to  Nat.  and  Polly  as  well,  for  I  think  they  mean  to 
be  there  with  you.  So  here's  to  the  Matunuck 
Crowd !  and  may  it  never  be  less. 

The  weather  is  rapturous,  and  I  hope  it  will  hold 
over  for  you.  I  was  reading  to  the  family  last  eve- 
ning a  fascinating  article  about  the  "  Turn  of  the 
Leaf  in  Autumn."  Seems  it 's  iron  in  the  sap  that 
makes  the  bright  colours,  when  the  iron  grows  rusty, 
because  the  sap  goes  away  from  it,  like  any  old  nail. 
That's  interesting,  ain't  it?  Seems  when  it's  time 
to  dry  up,  there's  a  little  gate  shut  across  the  leaf 
where  it  joins  its  stem,  and  when  the  sap  comes  up, 
the  door  being  shut  the  sap  turns  round  and  goes 
back  into  the  roots,  which  perhaps,  like  bulbs  and 
potatoes,  get  fat  upon  it.  But  the  poor  old  leaf, 
before  it  falls,  gets  brilliant  tints  from  the  residuum 
of  iron.  It's  iron,  seems,  anyway  that  has  to  do 
with  the  colouring  matter  of  leaves,  —  and  those  pale 
white  leaves  you  see  in  swormps  are  because  there 
is  no  iron  in  the  marsh.  I  always  supposed  it  was 
because  the  sun  did  n't  get  in  there,  as  in  fact  it  don't ; 
but  maybe  the  iron  goes  with  the  sun.  Excuse  my 
mentioning  these  things.  I  don't  know  as  I  feel  any 
better  about  the  autumn  leaves  whether  they  are  full 


444        LETTEKS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

of  old  junk  or  not  —  but  one  must  keep  up  with 
Science.  .  .  . 

I  am  having  a  nice  time  here,  everybody  is  good 
to  me.  I  never  saw  such  a  family;  always  on  the 
rampage  after  ordinations,  weddings,  funerals,  any 
old  lark,  —  this  means  Pa  and  Nelly,  for  Ma  and  I 
creep  to  our  respective  holes  as  soon  as  they  leave  the 
house,  and  only  poke  our  noses  out  for  meals.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSAN. 

To  Miss  CAROLINE  P.  ATKINSON 

AND 
Miss  MARY  E.  WILLIAMS 

WASHINGTON,  D.  C.,  January  12, 1909. 
MY  DEAR  CARLA  (AND  MAMIE),  —  My  head  is  spin- 
ning with  looking  over  the  (apparently)  undimin- 
ished  pile  of  my  letters,  but  I  am  longing  to  write 
to  you  all  this  time,  instead  of  sticking  to  working 
them  down  daily.  How  the  time  flies.  It  is  three 
weeks  to-day  since  I  came  here,  that 's  just  half  the 
time,  for  I  am  already  pulling  wires  for  February  2, 
when  I  think  to  get  me  to  New  Orleans.  ...  I  have 
been  looking  over  my  list  of  answers  to  letters,  and 
I  can't  see  that  I  have  ever  written  you  since  I  came, 
but  that  can't  be !  I  probably  dropped  you  and 
my  dear  Mamie  thanks  for  your  lovely  Christ- 
mas thoughts.  I  had  a  nice  collection  of  things 
and  they  filled  a  window-seat  I  have  here.  What  a 
rush  upon  red  this  year.  It  makes  my  corner  very 

gay- 

But,  I  want  you  to  know  about  my  doings.  My 
hat  with  the  hen  on  it,  in  connection  with  my  Kakas 
fur,  and  my  pompadour  to  pin  things  onto,  have  done 
a  great  work.  Yesterday  I  "attended"  Mrs.  Gar- 
field's  tea,  "  a  smash "  as  a  lady  in  the  dining-room 


LAST   YEAKS  445 

here  called  it.  I  sate  by  Mrs.  Cowles  and  helped  her 
make  the  tea,  after  a  chat  with  Mrs.  dewberry  at  the 
coffee  end.  Had  no  idea  who  these  dames  were,  but 
read  it  in  the  newspaper  this  morning.  .  . 

I  have  been  to  two  or  three  other  teas.  I  can't  hear 
anything,  and  don't  catch  the  name  of  anybody,  but 
that 's  no  matter.  I  am  much  more  steady  on  my  legs 
and  can  walk  safely  from  here  to  Nelly's  house.  In 
fact  the  side-walks  and  paved,  flat  roads  are  glorious 
in  W.  except  after  a  flurry  of  snow  when  no  man 
(however  dark)  dreams  of  shovelling.  Agnes  Pres- 
ton (my  Jamaica  friend)  came  here  on  purpose  to 
play  with  me  and  see  Washington,  from  Philadel- 
phia, spend  two  nights  and  the  day  between,  here  at 
Graf  ton;  and  Nelly  put  us  through  the  paces:  — 
Senate  (to  see  Pa),  where  we  also  watched  Tillman 
and  others  below  us,  —  the  row  just  beginning  to  fer- 
ment—  Cabot  Lodge,  Mr.  Depew,  and  other  Repub- 
licans. Saw  Judge  Holmes  sitting  up  on  his  bench 
with  the  other  Supremes.  Saw  Frances  Willard  in 
a  marble  gown  standing  up  on  a  pedestal  next  to 
Romulus  and  Remus  or  Somebody.  Were  presented 
to  V.-Pres.  Fairbanks,  who  is  a  dear,  and  saw  the 
Weather  Man  that  makes  the  weather  for  everybody 
(whether  or  no).  .  .  . 

But  what  I  like  best  is  to  stay  right  here,  in  my  nice 
room,  where  I  am  safe,  and  my  morning  prayer  in 
my  bath  is  that  Nelly  will  not  come  and  rake  me  out 
to  do  things.  My  bathroom  is  a  dream,  it's  all  my 
own  and  has  a  window  in  it,  so  made  that  I  can  keep 
it  open  all  the  time  and  see  things,  while  nobody  can 
see  me.  The  water  is  just  cold  enough  not  to  be  too 
cold,  and  I  can  sing  my  morning  songs  unmolested. 
It 's  still  dark  when  I  get  up  at  seven  and  by  seven- 
thirty  Mary  has  come  and  harnessed  me  into  things, 
and  then  "Wilson"  brings  the  breakfast  on  a  tray, 
with  fruit,  and  I  even  have  an  orange  first.  Mary 


446    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

gets  the  Washington  Post  and  goes  to  her  breakfast, 
and  thus  I  can  dawdle  until  Patty  with  her  carpet- 
scraper  and  broom  pursues  me  round  and  round,  like 
a  large  fly.  If  I  can  get  nerve,  while  she  is  infesting 
the  place,  to  do  my  hair  for  the  day, 
it's  all  very  well,  but  perhaps  she 
comes  and  sweeps  under  me,  and  then 
I  have  to  give  it  up  until  later.  I 
go  down  to  luncheon  which  is  really 
my  dinner  at  one,  and  by  the  way, 
Mrs.  George  W.  Goethals,  whose  hus- 
band is  at  Culebra,  sits  at  my  same 
little  table.  Her  name  was  Erne  Rod- 
man, and  her  son,  Freshman  at  Har- 
vard, belongs  to  the  Friday  Dancing 
Class;  —  but  I  should  think  a  real  Rodman  would 
feel  funny  to  be  named  Goethals,  and  how  the 
dickens  are  they  pronounced  ?  She  is  very  pleasant, 
quite  handsome,  and  extremely  dressed,  and  on  the 
Go(ethals)  incessantly.  .  .  . 

YOUB  LOVING  SUSAN. 

To  Miss  CHAELOTTE  A.  HEDGE 

MATTJNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  June  8,  1909. 
Nice  Sarlots  to  write  her  Tuzosh;  and  yes  I  did 
get  yours  at  New  Orleans,  and  was  and  am  a  pig  not 
to  have  answered  it;  so  I  will  now  write  at  once, 
which  is  the  only  way  to  catch  me ;  but  it 's  discourag- 
ing to  correspondents  to  get  the  boot  on  their  leg 
again  so  soon.  All  you  say  (as  always,  my  dear),  is 
absorbingly  interesting.  I  wish  I  could  have  been 
at  the  Williams'  occasion,  if  it  had  been  a  week  or  so 
earlier  I  could  have  gone  to  it  in  my  new  Chopak 
suit,  but  just  as  well  to  hear  about  it;  and  about  the 
christening.  There  is  certainly  a  great  deal  of 
beauty  in  that  family,  and  I  love  them  all,  beginning 


LAST   YEAES  44T 

with  Moses  (pere).  I  heard  of  this  tea  through 
Weedens,  who  flew  there  in  their  buzz-buzz  from 
Providence,  starting  after  luncheon  and  getting  back 
to  dinner  at  the  uzle  time.  Sorry  also  by  absence 
my  losing  the  sight  of  your  mother's  best  black-silk 
gown. 

I  am  now,  by  the  way,  sitting  in  a  mauve-plush 
wrapper  which  I  used  to  wear  in  the  first  scene  of  the 
"Elixir  of  Youth,"  as  the  Old  Grandmother  (the 
"  front "  I  wore,  now  answers  as  pompadour  beneath 
these  same  locks,  now,  grey,  of  my  own  front  hair). 
Those  gowns  are  again  stylish,  with  tight  sleeves  and 
slinking  hips,  and  my  figger  is  precisely  the  same. 
And  that  reminds  me  of  the  enlarged  daguerreotype 
you  speak  of.  Is  it  not  amusing?  I  sent  one  to 
Carry,  as  I  should  have  done  to  Anne,  if  we  had  her 
here  still ;  but  in  general,  I  think  it 's  bad  form  to 
circulate  one's  own  image. 

As  for  things,  how  they  do  accumulate,  how  often 
I  wish  to  exclaim,  "  Oh  don't  give  me  that !  "  Mrs. 
Evelyn  Perkins,  for  instance  (the  one  I  travelled 
with),  is  constantly  giving  me  things.  Sometimes, 
to  tell  the  truth,  I  like  them,  as  a  Japanese  kimono  or 
something  which  is  a  dream  of  grey  crepe  with  great 
blobs  of  pink  on  it.  But  don't  for  Heaven's  sake 
have  people  give  me  books !  By  the  way,  I  have  an 
enchanting  one  just  now,  "  The  Magic  Casement,"  all 
possible  fairy  poetry  from  Queen  Mab  down,  selected 
by  ISToyes,  himself  no  mean  poet.  Otherwise  I  am 
reading  for  the  millionth  time  the  "Correspond- 
ence of  Samuel  Eichardson,"  edited  by  Mrs.  Bar- 
bauld.  Delicious.  Those  people  of  the  eighteenth 
century  (Queen  Anne's)  knew  much  better  what  they 
were  about  than  we  do.  They  had  time  for  things, 
wrote  drooling  long  letters,  had  some  knowledge  of 
each  other's  characters,  and  what  books  they  had, 
they  read.  They  had  a  thing  called  "  Leisure  "  which 


448    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

we  don't  possess,  although,  to  be  sure,  they,  even  then, 
regarded  themselves  as  being  in  a  hurry,  and  spent 
much  time  and  paper  in  explaining  why  they  did  n't 
write  oftener;  the  facts  being  they  had  nothing  to 
communicate,  and  as  a  general  thing,  wrote  much  too 
frequently  for  comfort  either  to  themselves  or  their 
correspondents. 

I've  been  here  now  since  May  15,  and,  —  barring 
the  fiendish  cold,  rain,  wind,  fog,  sleet,  damp,— 
rapturously  employed  playing  with  my  own  things, 
which  I  have  not  seen  all  winter.  I  love  my  old 
elbow-chair  up  in  my  own  room,  and  the  long  cheval- 
glass  where  I  can  for  once  see  the  whole  of  myself; 
and  my  breakfast  in  the  porch,  where  "  she  ain't 
crazy  but  she  eats  outdoors."  Mary  Keating  does 
the  whole  thing;  makes  the  kitchen  fire,  makes  the 
coffee,  makes  the  toast,  broils  the  chop,  sets  the  table, 
everything  except  to  digest  my  food,  and,  if  she  is 
unwilling,  I  don't  even  do  that.  But  this  is  at 
an  end,  for  to-morrow  my  other  maid  comes  (new), 
and  moreover  the  other  inhabitants  arrive,  Carla, 
Matlacks,  Polly  and  her  tribe  in  their  own  house, 
which  is  done,  not  with  me,  Weedens  soon,  then 
Kose,  and  outlying  provinces  become  peopled,  like 
Koger  Perkins,  Sibley  Smith,  Larry  and  others. 
Of  course  I  want  to  have  them  come,  for  we  are 
a  very  congenial  crowd,  and  everybody  is  good  to 
Susan. 

There  ain't  no  ice,  you  know,  because  the  pond,  it 
didn't  freeze,  or  if  it  did,  casually,  Elisha  wasn't 
round  and  didn't  cut  any.  Such  a  thing  has  not 
happened  ever  since  1872  when  the  life  here  began. 
The  ice-house  is  just  newly  shingled,  so  it 's  nice  and 
dry  inside,  and  we  are  using  the  old  shingles  for 
kindlings. 

The  land  is  a  dream  of  early  summer,  Kalmia 
(laurel)  full  of  fat  buds ;  lilacs,  yellow  lilies,  iris  on 


LAST   YEAKS  449 

the  wane,  hawthorn,  honeysuckle,  "everything  that 
pretty  bin  "  in  profusion.  All  my  summer  wood  has 
just  been  dumped  on  my  strawberry  bed,  full  of  blos- 
soms, but  that's  no  matter. 

YOTJE  TUZOSH. 


To  Miss  ELLEN  D.  HALE 
No  letters  since  Friday;  nervous  as  a  witch. 
MATUNUCK,  7:30  A.  M.,  June  9, 1909. 

BUT  NELLY,  —  I  want  to  tell  you  something  fas- 
cinating. In  the  first  place  I  've  got  a  delightful 
book ;  have  you  read  about  it  ?  It  is  all  possible  Fairy 
Poetry  (Keats,  etc.)  selected  and  put  together  by 
Noyes  called  "  The  Magic  Casement,"  and  contains 
all  manner  of  familiar  things  from  "Hark,  hark! 
the  lark"  down. 

Well,  I  was  sitting  reading  it  in  the  west-long- 
window  with  the  wistaria  outside  all  smelling  good, 
—  this  was  yesterday  afternoon,  —  and  enwrapped 
with  Tom  Hood's  "  Plea  of  the  Midsummer  Fairies," 
do  you  remember  about  it?  It  says 

"  there  were  many  birds  of  many  dyes 
.  .  .  and  all  were  tame 
And  peckled  at  my  hand  where'er  I  came." 

Well,  just  as  I  was  all  mixed  up  with  this,  a  great 
fool  robin,  just  hatched,  very  fuzzy,  came  bounce! 
and  jammed  himself  into  the  wistaria  vine,  and  sat 
staring  behind  a  bunch  of  it  at  me,  quite  imprisoned, 
he  could  neither  get  in  nor  out.  I  had  seen  him  be- 
fore. Mary  thinks  he  is  just  hatched  out  of  a  small 
oak  tree  on  the  hill.  A  person  I  conceive  to  be  his 
father,  stalked  up  and  down  the  drive,  buttoned  up 
in  his  red  waist-coat,  and  chirped  in  an  indifferent 
manner,  as  if  his  wife  had  told  him  to  go  out  and 


450        LETTERS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

look  for  offspring,  who  was  lost.  But  offspring 
could  see  the  parent,  and  Pa  Robins  went  away.  So 
we  sate  quite  still,  till  I  began  to  think  it  was  time 
for  him  to  go  home,  and  he  seemed  a  bit  uneasy, 
so  I  softly  put  my  hand  into  his  ambush.  He  gave 
a  great  squawk  and  sprang  away,  and  flew  with  the 
ease  of  a  Wright's  Machine  back  towards  his  hill. 
Wasn't  it  excellent?  I  felt  as  if  Queen  Mab  and 
Puck  would  be  there  directly.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSAN. 

To  Miss  CHARLOTTE  A.  HEDGE 

MATUNTJCK,   RHODE   ISLAND, 
September  5,  1909. 

DEAE  SAELOTS, —  Isn't  this  a  dreadful  business 
about  the  North  Pole  being  found,  all  the  mystery, 
all  the  charm,  gone  out  of  the  Geography  ?  It 's  now 
just  like  any  other  old  place,  say  Watchaalascatch- 
kan,  Iowa.  And  such  a  commonplace  man  discover- 
ing it,  named  Cook.  He  just  made  a  hole  in  the 
ground  and  came  away.  Why  didn't  he  see  blue 
devils,  salamanders,  and  shooting  flames,  and  the 
shades  of  Hudson  and  John  Franklin  and  ISTorgens- 
cold  and  Swerdros  hawking  round  and  wringing  their 
hands  saying,  "  He  done  it "  ? 

I'm  forcing  myself  now  to  turn  my  thoughts  to 
the  Antarctic  Pole  —  there  remains  mystery,  ro- 
mance, inaccessibility;  and  I  can't  get  over  my  child- 
ish impression  that  it's  warm  there.  I  am  hoping 
you  will  sympathise  with  me  in  this  new  aggression 
of  the  twentieth  century.  How  flat  the  world  seems ! 
He,  Cook,  seems  to  have  taken  absolutely  no  comfort 
in  the  fact  there  was  no  longitude.  Write  your 
sympathy. 

I  noticed,  last  night,  no  perturbation  in  the  Pole 


LAST   YEARS  451 

Star.     I  was  fearing  it  might  refuse  to  go  round  a 
Cooked  Pole. 

Yours, 
SUSY. 

To  Miss  CHARLOTTE  A.  HEDGE 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND, 
September  15,  1909. 

DEAR  SARLOTS,  —  To  tell  the  truth,  I  never  could 
endure  the  works  of  Philpots,  and  have  never  opened 
one  of  them.  I  am  quite  sure  it  is  on  account  of  his 
name ;  but  I  should  hate  to  have  any  book  of  his  in 
the  house.  You  will,  I  'm  sure,  excuse  and  even  enjoy 
this  vigorous  language.  I  once  liked  Hardy's  things, 
but  I  don't  think  I  could  now,  and  there  is  also  a 
man  named  Howlitts  or  something,  I  can't  bear. 

Young's  "  Night  Thoughts  "  is  good  enough  for  me, 
especially  where  he  says: 

"  Oh !  lost  to  virtue,  lost  to  manly  thought 
Lost  to  the  noble  sallies  of  the  soul 
Who  think  it  Solitude  to  be  alone." 

But  I  have  also  got  a  fat  book  of  "  Appreciations  " 
I  believe  they  are  called,  of  George  Meredith,  and 
that  is  quite  pleasing.  And  I've  got  Huneker's 
"  Egoists,"  which  tells  all  about  a  quantity  of  people, 
cranks,  that  it  wouldn't  be  proper  for  us  to  read 
themselves. 

But  to  return  to  the  Pole.  This  mush  is  dreadful 
they  have  got  us  into,  Cook  and  Peary  reported  daily, 
column  by  column  in  the  same  daily  paper,  Mrs. 
Cook  and  Mrs.  Peary  bridling  and  waggling  their 
heads.  Last  night  when  I  looked  out  I  seemed  to 
see  Two  Pole  stars,  —  and  I  dare  say  they  are  get- 
ting forked.  (To  be  sure,  I  also  saw  two  lighthouses 
on  Block  Island.  It's  some  form  of  superannuated 
vision,  I  believe.)  But  no  matter. 


452        LETTERS   .OF   SUSAN  HALE 

Nelly  invites  me  to  stay  with  her  at  29  Gorham 
Avenue,  Brookline,  and  I  may  come  to  it  later,  but  it 
is  still  enchanting  here.  Yesterday  a  dream  of  a 
day.  Carla  Atk.  is  my  neighbour,  you  know,  and 
"Polly"  Weeden,  now  Smith,  has  two  delightful 
children.  We  mean  to  hold  on  through  this  month 
at  least.  Mrs.  Jeanie  Weeden  has  a  "motor"  and 
lately  hawked  me  in  it  up  the  Island  of  Newport  and 
back  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 

Always  yours, 

TUZOSH. 

To  Miss  ELLEN  D.  HALE 
MATTTNTJCZ,  RHODE  ISLAND,  October  19, 1909. 

OH  !  MY  DEARS  ! 

WHOEVER  READS  THESE  LINES 

as  it  says  in  the  "Mysteries  of  Udolpho,"  or  some 
one  of  my  old  novels  ("  Cherubina"  in  fact)  — may 
know  that  I  am  all  packed,  all  swept  and  garnished, 
although  it  is  yet  twenty-four  hours 
Before 

The  Fatal  Knell 

(Knock  wood.) 

It 's  all  very  nicely  arranged.  Carla  and  I  are  going 
with  Willard  to  Kingston  and  from  there  together 
to  New  York  and  spend  the  night  at  Manhattan,  and 
thence  next  by  morning  train  to  Hudson,  where  you 
know  I  mean  to  stay  till  to'rds  the  middle  of  Novem- 
ber, when  I  return  to  New  York,  and  Mary  K.  joins 
me,  to  sail  in  N.  G.  Lloyd,  S.  S.  Prinzess  Irene, 
November  20.  Ain't  it  splendid?  Rich,  affluent, 
not  lacking  in  the  remains  of  personal  charms,  ac- 
companied by  an  accomplished  though  educated  maid, 
I  wend  my  way  to  further  conquests  upon  the  Medi- 
terranean shores.  You  see,  that  having  sent  all  my 


LAST   YEAKS  453 

books  I  haven't  read  to  the  Kobby  Library,  I  am 
reduced  to  the  perusal  of  Miss  Burney's  "  Cecilia," 
and  this  is  the  way  it  proceeds;  an  excellent  work 
and  I  am  surprised  to  see  how  modern  it  is;  the 
prattle  of  Miss  Larolles  might  be  easily  transferred 
to  any  Boston  reception,  not  to  mention  Washington. 
I  hate  to  go  away,  for  it  is  still  lovely  here.  .  .  . 

LOVING  SUSAN. 


To  MES.  N.  W.  SMITH 

OLANA,  November  14,  1909. 

DEAR  POLLY, —  .  .  .  It 's  wonderful  the  things 
that  go  on  in  Boston.  I  had  no  idea  there  was  a 
new  Art  Museum  till  I  heard  that  Jake  was  exhibit- 
ing himself  in  the  Old  One.  By  the  way,  did  you  see 
Phil,  anywhere  round?  Every  body  (of  my  age) 
writes  me  of  the  new  Opera  House,  for  we  all  recall 
the  joyous  days  when  the  new  one  was  the  poor  old 
Boston  Theatre ;  and  there  we  used  to  sit  night  after 
night  and  see  Grisi  and  Mario  and  Rachel  and  Jenny 
Lind,  and  hear  those  dear  old-fashioned  operas  like 
"  Lucrezia  Borgia  "  and  "  Trovatore  "  and  the  "Bohe- 
mian Girl,"  and  "  Norma,"  and  I  wore  my  hair  just 
like  the  old  photograph  we  have  now  (enlarged)  and 
no  hat,  and  nodded  to  everybody  in  the  house  as  we 
scuttled  down  to  our  own  seats  before  the  footlights. 
My!  those  were  stirring  times,  and  our  men  came 
round  and  talked  to  us,  and  we  had  librettos  with 
English  words  and  long  play-bills  with  the  names 
of  the  performers.  I  felt  exactly  as  if  I  owned  the 
whole  house,  and  that  it  was  the  finest  in  the  world. 
Well,  that's  just  about  sixty  years  ago.  But  no 
matter;  ain't  I  going  to  sail  on  the  20th  to  foreign 

LOVING  SUSAN. 


454:        LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

To  Miss  CAROLINE  P.  ATKINSON 

PEINZESS  IRENE,  November  27,  1909. 
CARLA  DEAR,  —  Es  ist  sehr  dunkel  and  only  six- 
thirty  by  my  clocks,  but  the  .Bad-stewardess  hiked 
me  out  from  my  delicious  salt  bath  and  I  'm  back  and 
had  my  coffee,  and  will  write  you  till  Mary  comes  and 
dresses  me.  We  had  a  wonderful  day  with  Azores, 
yesterday,  passing  slowly  along  under  that  one  that 
has  not  got  Pico  on  it.  I  never  saw  it  so  beautiful, 
in  fact  I  have  always  regarded  the  Azores  as  tedious, 
but  now !  it  lasted  from  one,  just  after  early  luncheon 
till  two-thirty,  all  the  time  very  beautiful,  all  swathed 
with  rainbows  of  brightest  hues  like  those  fires  on 
the  stage  that  ladies  dance  in  within  their  clothes. 
The  high  cliffs  dotted,  don't  you  know  ?  With  little 
villages  such  as  come  in  a  box,  and  immense  great 
waterfalls  with  real  water  in  them,  —  "Slow  drop- 
ping veils  of  thinnest  lawn  did  go  and  great  chasms 
casting  shadows."  (Mary  K.  was  wild.  It's  the 
first  "  scenery  "  she  ever  saw  except  the  E.  R.  Station 
at  Concord,  Mass.)  We  all  stood  pressed  up  against 
the  rail,  rather  wobbly,  with  great  lapus-lazuli  waves 
plashing  over  the  shore.  Then  I  was  so  tired  I  went 
to  bed  at  once,  and  had  no  dinner,  and  slept  till  just 
now,  perfectly  refreshed  when  I  got  my  bath.  .  .  . 

YOUR  SUSAN. 

To  Miss  ELLEN  D.  HALE 

ALGER,  le  5tJi  Ttecembre,  1909. 
OH  !  NELLY  !  —  It 's  Sunday,  and  my  birthday,  and 
by  these  signs  I  should  be  writing  to  you,  if  joy  alone 
didn't  cause  me  to.  Open  window,  sun  shining, 
towels  drying  in  my  balcony,  little  rolls  of  butter, 
coffee  (vile,  of  course)  and  honey.  (I  will  tell  you 
this  each  time  I  write.) 


LAST   YEARS  455 

Well,  you  see  I  must  look  now  at  everything  in  the 
spirit  of  seventy-six.  Would  it  not  be  funny  if  I 
should  live  another  seventy-five  years,  and  become 
one  hundred  and  fifty;  they  are  inventing  things  to 
prolong  life.  On  the  other  hand  M.  Somebody  I 
have  always  supposed  to  put  faith  in  says  the  tail 
of  Halley's  comet  may  sprinkle  us  next  May  in  a 
gas  which  will  make  us  all  die  rapturously.  Very 
well.  .  .  . 

YOTTK  SUSAN. 


To  Miss  ELLEN  D.  HALE 

HOTEL  DE  LA  PLAGE,  CANNES, 
December  25,  1909. 

Oh !  Kelly,  this  is  really  Christmas,  and  I  will 
celebrate  by  writing  this  to  you  instead  of  to-morrow. 
I  am  entirely  cleaned  out  of  nice  little  gold-pieces, 
by  the  reason  of  tips,  and  had  to  scrape  together  my 
last  five  francs  for  Mary's  church.  I  am  saving  Papa 
Leopold  II  on  a  fat  five-franc  piece,  and  washed  him 
yesterday  with  ammonia  and  my  nail-brush  to  keep 
for  a  luck  penny.  We  have  also  got  a  twenty- 
franc  note  Algerienne  which  don't  pass  here.  But 
there  is  lots  of  money  in  the  Credit  Lyonnais,  and 
they  placed  it  all  at  my  disposal,  they  were  so  pleased 
to  see  me. 

But  we've  been  having  a  terrible  time  with  the 


1 


i.1  if  • 


Grand  Duke  Michael  Somethingvitch.  You  know 
he  is  dead;  and  three  war-ships  came  over  from 
Bizerta  and  stood  out  here  with  little  lights  on  them 


456         LETTERS   OF   SUSAN   HALE 

in  the  night,  and  one  took  him  away  in  his  coffin 
through  the  Straits  of  Dardanelles  (by  permission 
of  Turks)  to  be  buried  in  Peter  and  Paul's  church 
at  St.  Petersburg,  and  his  nephew  is  now  Grand 
Duke  Michael,  and  I  saw  him  on  a  horse  at  the  head 
of  the  convoi,  and  behind  him  tramped  millions  of 
matelots,  in  ber&ts  and  dark-blue  shirts,  whom  I  con- 
ceive to  be  from  the  Russian  ships,  though  more  sol- 
diers and  sailors  came  from  Nice.  And  there  was 
a  mound  of  flowers  drawn  by  horses,  —  couronnes 
with  broad  ribbons  with  the  names  of  the  Queens 
who  had  sent  them;  and  then  priests  in  white  and 
gold  bearing  a  great  cross  and  things,  and  everybody 
took  off  their  hats ;  and  then  the  old  gentleman  him- 
self in  a  gilt  hearse  with  four  horses,  and  then  the 
municipality  of  Cannes,  with  their  hats  off  and  quite 
bald,  and  then  a  quantity  of  private  carriages  with 
the  people  not  in  them.  There  were  military  bands, 
and  one  of  them  was  playing  Chopin's  "Funeral 
March,"  which  is  the  most  solemn  thing  I  know.  I 
heard  it  in  Constantino  in  a  march  Funebre  of  sol- 
diers, twenty  years  ago  or  more.  It  was  all  very 
impressive,  and  I  was  in  a  little  carriage  lined  up 
between  autos,  by  the  side  of  the  road  in  a  little 
cross-street  from  Rue  d'Antibes.  When  I  got  back 
here  and  looked  for  the  war-ship,  it  was  gone.  How 
they  got  him  into  it  I  can't  imagine,  can  you  ?  Mean- 
time Mary  Keating  had  put  for  la  gare,  which  was 
wise  of  her,  for  that  was  where  everything  culmi- 
nated, and  she  saw  the  couronnes  and  the  names  on 
the  ribbons;  —  and  saw  lots  of  the  procession  which 
went  back  to  Nice  by  train. 

You  see  Old  Grand  Duke  has  been  a  fetish  here 
ever  since  I  first  came,  and  Louis  and  I  used  to  see 
him  in  a  little  cart  drawn  by  two  ponies  (I  think), 
and  his  valet  behind.  He  was  about  one  hundred 
and  sixty  then,  more  now;  and  much!  beloved  here, 


LAST   YEARS 


45Y 


though  I  believe  his  family  didn't  care  much  for 
him.  But  they  came  out  strong  with  the  obseques 
certainly.  .  .  . 

LOVING  SUSAN. 


To  E.  A.  CHURCH 

HOTEL  DE  LA  PLAGE,  CANNES,  FRANCE, 

January  26,  1910. 

DEAR  MR.  CHURCH,  —  While  I  was  at  my  bank 
yesterday,  waiting  for  my  money,  this  delightful  old 
lady  came  bustling  in,  pushed  me  away  from  the 


window,  and  began  to  do  business.  They  were  all 
delighted  to  see  her  and  smiled  and  shook  hands,  and 
she  held  out  a  great  bunch  of  bank-notes  she  had: 
Cent  francs,  100  cent  francs,  gold,  heaven  knows  how 


458    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

much.  She  didn't  come  to  draw  money,  not  a  bit 
of  it;  but  to  deposit.  I  guess  somebody  had  been 
paying  rent  up  to  January  1,  don't  you  ?  You  don't 
suppose  she  came  in  a  carriage  do  you  ?  She  walked, 
had  this  umbrella,  though  no  signs  of  rain  were 
visible.  She  asked  after  all  their  children,  shook 
hands  all  round  and  bustled  out  again.  "  That 's  a 
jolly  old  lady,"  said  I.  "Yes,  she  is,"  they  said, 
and  rubbed  their  hands.  That's  the  way  I  look 
when  I  come  to  see  you  and  deposit  my  rente, 
ain't  it  ? 

Your  letter  is  sous-main  of  the  9th  January.  It 
sounds  to  me  very  well  and  prosperous,  and  for  a  man 
of  business  you  manage  to  get  a  wonderful  lot  out  of 
life,  opera,  sailors'  home,  and  all  that  reading  you 
manage  to  put  in.  I'm  interested  in  what  you  say 
about  Perabo.  He  was  a  new-fledged  lion  when  I 
knew  him  (more  by  token  of  which  he  must  be  get- 
ting old  by  this  time).  I  remember  I  was  doing 
something  funny  at  some  charitable  entertainment, 
when  he  was  pianist.  He  won't  remember  any- 
thing about  me.  I  remember  (or  think  I  do)  that 
the  entertainment  was  for  the  Homeopathic  Hos- 
pital and  that  afterwards  when  I  wanted  to  send 
somebody  there  I  couldn't,  because  I  was  a  Uni- 
tarian. But  perhaps  I  've  got  it  mixed  up.  Peace 
to  its  ashes.  I  can't  read  Mr.  De  Morgan's  works. 
I  got  swamped  in  one  of  them  and  barely  escaped 
with  my  life.  I  have  in  my  possession  here  two 
copies  of  "  Bella  Donna,"  a  vile  book  in  my  opinion. 
I  couldn't  get  through  with  it,  and  had  somebody 
tell  me  the  ghastly  wind  up  of  it  People  give  it  to 
me  because  I  have  been  twice  in  Egypt,  and  am  toler- 
ably familiar  with  the  Kile,  all  the  more  reason  for 
avoiding  a  book  that  stains  all  the  picturesque  effect 
of  the  scenery  with  evil  imaginations.  I'm  sorry, 
for  I  think  Mr.  Hichens  is  very  capable.  But  I'm 


LAST   YEAES  459 

reading  French,  all  the  time,  and  just  now  have  hit 
upon  a  charming  novel  —  so  far  —  most  of  them  end 
in  disaster. 

Truly  yours, 
SUSAN  HALE. 

To  E.  A.  CHUECH 

HOTEL  DE  LA  PLAGE,  CANNES,  FEANCE, 
February  13,1910. 

DEAR  MB.  CHUECH, 

Business !    Business ! 
Wonderful  sight! 

Money  coming  in  instead  of  going  out! 
Little  and  Brown  doing  business ! 

113  copies  sold  of  "  Last  of  the  Peterkins  " ! 
I  am  thinking  of  buying  an  automobile  and 
shipping  it  home. 

Jesting  aside,  I'm  surprised,  for  I  thought  these 
things  would  go  straight  to  you;  but  this  was  ad- 
dressed to  Matunuck;  so  perhaps  you  have  not  re- 
ceived the  account  of  Houghton  and  Mifflin  due  about 
now.  ISTo  matter ;  this  will  support  me  a  good  while, 
anyhow  it  puts  me  up  to  writing  you  a  little  letter. 
It  is  enchanting  here  this  sunny  morning  I  am  writ- 
ing in  my  open  window  with  the  sun  shining  in  on 
me,  and  the  lovely,  lovely  Mediterranean  outside  all 
veiled  in  soft  light ;  the  sea,  the  hills,  the  sky  all  blue 
and  vague,  and  dreamy  little  sails  dawdling  about. 
Mary  K.  has  gone  to  church  and  everybody  else  ex- 
cept me  is  in  church,  and  there  is  not  a  sound  below 
on  the  boulevards;  unless  a  chance  dog,  or  a  green 
parasol  goes  by  on  the  side-walk.  Tell  Mrs.  Church 
that  existence  is  impossible  here  without  a  green 
parasol.  The  shops  are  full  of  them,  and  everybody 
is  wearing  them  (except  me) ;  I  wont.  I  love  to  be 


460    LETTEKS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

in  all  the  sun  there  is ;  but  here  the  people  are  afraid 
of  it,  and  the  men  walk  about  with  umbrellas.  To  be 
sure  I  might  buy  one  with  my  $14.12  just  received, 
but  likely  that  will  go  for  books  from  London.  It 's 
so  easy  to  get  them  here,  no  duty,  and  only  one  day. 
I  subscribe  to  the  London  Daily  Telegraph,  and  I  am 
trying  to  understand  their  election  and  their  New 
Parliaments.  I  don't  want  the  Lords  to  be  abolished, 
do  you  ?  It 's  so  splendid  to  have  them  sitting  up  in 
their  crowns  and  ermine.  I  wouldn't  do  away  with 
them  for  anything. 

But  let  me  tell  you  the  fields  are  all  green,  and 
great  rivers  babbling  through  them,  and  almond  trees 
in  blossom,  and  little  dandelions  like  ours,  and  little 
poppies,  and  deep  pink  anemones,  and  masses  of  yel- 
low mimosa  on  great  trees.  The  hotel  is  full  of  tour- 
ists down  from  the  North ;  it 's  the  thing  for  the  Eng- 
lish to  come  here  in  Lent.  In  fact  Mr.  Asquith  and 
Mr.  Lloyd  George  were  in  town  last  week,  recuperat- 
ing. I  did  n't  see  them  but  I  hope  they  saw  me  driv- 
ing in  my  little  carriage  piled  up  with  mimosa. 
Here's  Mary  K.  to  dress  me,  so  good-bye  for  the 
moment. 

Truly  yours, 
SUSAN  HALE. 

To  Miss  ELLEN  D.  HALE 

HOTEL  DE  LA  PLAGE,  CANNES,  FRANCE, 

jeudi,  February  $4,  1910. 

DEAR  NELLY,  —  It 's  raining ! !  of  all  things,  and  the 
Bataille  de  Fleurs  will  have  to  be  put  off  again,  and 
their  nice  flags  and  awnings  are  all  getting  wet. 
"  Pity  not  had  him  yesterday,"  as  small  gargon  re- 
marked when  he  brought  my  plateau  just  now. 

But  I  can't  trouble  much  about  us  on  account  of 
the  poor  old  Parliament.  Do  you  keep  reading 


LAST   YEAKS  461 

about  them  ?  Ain't  it  terrible  ?  They  can't  pass  their 
budget,  and  they  can't  have  any  money  to  pay  each 
other  with,  until  they've  fired  all  the  nice  Lords, 
to  please  Mr.  Redmond;  and  nice  Mr.  Balfour  has 
a  cold,  so  he  hates  to  have  to  speak  and  try  and  com- 
fort them.  I  have  pictures  of  all  of  them,  cut  out 
and  pinned  in  a  book  I  Ve  got.  It 's  in  vain  to  use 
Fullum's  aphorism  and  say,  "  'Tain't  no  consequence, 
they  was  Irish,"  because  the  trouble  is  they  be 
Irish. 

Well,  I  shall  get  my  London  Telegraph  again  this 
afternoon  and  then  we  '11  see.  .  .  . 

YOTTK  SUSAN, 

To  Miss  ELLEN  D.  HALE 

HOTEL  DE  LA  PLAGE,  CANNES,  FRANCE, 
February  28  (last  day  of  winter},  1910. 
Why !  Nelly !  Poor  old  Willy l  is  gone  at  last.  I 
guess  he  is  glad.  I  read  it  yesterday  in  my  Sun,  and 
can  think  of  nothing  else  since.  No  doubt  you  are 
writing  me  about  it ;  but  our  mails  are  all  a  tort  &t  a 
iravers.  The  Sun  has  a  pretty  good  article;  and  I 
send  their  additional  comment.  No  doubt  some  of 
his  schoolboys  have  become  Sun-reporters  or  so.  But 
he  was  six  years  younger  than  me.  They  say  less. 
He  had  a  splendid  faith,  and  no  doubt  felt  he  was 
going  straight  to  his  father,  I  mean  Uncle  Edward. 
You  see  (I've  often  told  you)  he  was  six  when  they 
came  back  from  living  in  England,  and  I  was  twelve. 
His  home  was  pretty  forlorn,  and  my  mother  took 
him  right  in;  he  adored  her.  He  came  often  to 
6  Hamilton  Place  and  I  was  made  to  go  to  play  with 
him  in  Summer  Street  (which  I  hated)  — but  we 
used  to  play  bear,  with  me  for  the  bear  living  under 
the  great  yellow-marble  centre-table  with  gold  legs. 
1  William  Everett. 


462        LETTEES   OF   SUSAN"  HALE 

I've  often  told  you  how  he  used  to  walk  with  me 
round  the  Common  in  petticoats  with  a  beaver  hat 
and  cane,  shouting,  "  Arma  virumque  cano."  All 
last  night  I  was  thinking  of  these  things  and  longing 
to  jump  up  and  tell  you  about  it  ... 

YOUR  SUSAN. 

To  Miss  MARY  B.  DINSMOOR 

CANNES,  FRANCE,  March  12,  1910. 

Oh !  my  dear  Mary,  "  Quelle  joia ! "  as  Lucretia 
used  to  say,  don't  you  remember?  We  didn't,  but 
that  was  a  part  of  our  eccentricities.  Well,  as  I  was 
saying  quelle  joia  to  get  a  fat  bunch  of  half-sheets 
yesterday  about  dark,  unusual  hour,  so  I  spent  the 
time  till  dinner  reading  and  re-reading  them,  after 
Mary  had  got  me  dressed  in  my  striped-grass  gown, 
whereas  I  had  done  my  hair  earlier  in  the 
business.  .  .  . 

But  you  are  so  dear  to  write  me  about  Willy 
Everett,  for  I  am  still  feeling  very  sad  and  sort  of 
grieved  about  it  (different  from  some  deaths).  There 
is  so  much  that  was  forlorn  about  it,  and  at  any  rate 
so  much  in  him  unappreciated.  I  'm  glad  you  kept 
up  your  dealings  with  him.  I  tossed  all  night  after 
I  got  the  news  (read  it  in  my  N.  Y.  Sun,  February 
IT),  thinking  of  the  days  when  he  was  a  little  boy, 
and  we  played  bear  in  the  great,  gloomy  drawing- 
room  of  his  family  in  Summer  Street.  I  was  the 
bear,  I  think,  and  lived  on  all  fours  under  the  great 
malachite  or  alabaster  centre-table  with  gold  legs, 
and  I  used  to  come  out  and  growl,  I  believe,  for  him 
to  run  away.  He  was  six  and  I  was  twelve.  You 
know  (probably  don't)  that  (last  spring,  before  Papa 
Edward  died)  I  was  staying  with  them  in  39  High- 
land Street  and  by  great  strategy  a  dinner  was  ar- 
ranged by  Willy  for  us,  just  us  two,  to  come  to 


LAST   YEARS  463 

Quincy,  and  we  drove  over  in  state;  the  dinner  was 
par  fait,  the  whole  a  perfect  success.  Edward  was 
scared  to  death'  and  on  his  best  behaviour,  Willy  also 
had  his  Sunday  muzzle  on,  and  they  were  so  polite 
to  each  other,  it  was  painful.  You  know  Willy  loved 
Edward,  but  was  always  enraged  with  him,  and  Pa, 
aware  of  this,  was  sure  to  put  his  foot  in  it.  The 
consequence  was  that  every  subject  either  man  was 
interested  in  was  carefully  avoided,  and  even  the 
weather,  the  crops,  the  possibility  that  Mars  is  in- 
habited were  but  lightly  touched.  I  did  n't  open  my 
mouth,  but  sate  and  stroked  the  cat.  But  it  was  a 
great  success,  and  left  a  good  taste  in  all  our  mouths, 
and  gives  me  the  image  of  his  perfect,  carnal  comfort 
in  his  menage,  these  latter  days.  Hie  was  surrounded 
by  three  females,  all  his  abject  slaves !  a  cook,  a  sort 
of  marmsome  housekeeper,  who  waited  at  table,  and 
his  typewriter  amanuensis,  who  was  subserviently 
tyrannical,  as  she  should  be.  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSIE. 

To  Miss  ELLEN  D.  HALE 

CANNES,  Pdques,  March  27,  1910. 
Oh,  Nelly,  do  you  remember  when  we  sate  all  in 
the  dark  in  the  Toledo  Cathedral,  with  shadowy 
crowds  veiled  and  kneeling,  still,  still,  till  midnight, 
when  a  burst  of  light  came  and  somebody  said  "  Christ 
is  Risen,"  and  every  body  jumped  up  and  kissed  each 
other?  And  then  I  am  thinking  of  the  Holy  Week 
in  Jerusalem,  when  the  procession  came  down  from 
the  Mount  of  Olives  with  palms,  that  Sunday;  and 
Easter  we  went  down  to  what  they  call  the  Tomb, 
under  church  of  Sepulchre.  And  then  a  Good  Friday, 
in  Mexico,  little  small  place  where  Aztecs  did  a  little 
play  of  the  "  Betrayal  of  Judas  "  and  one  performed 
Christ,  to  a  vast  crowd  of  Indies  out  in  a  great  field. 


464    LETTERS  OF  SUSAN  HALE 

And  more  things  I  have  forgotten  and  partly  in- 
vented which  are  described  in  my  Archives,  and  came 
round  in  bed  last  night  when  I  woke  up  at  2  A.  M. 

But  now  I  have  got  an  Easter  egg  which  came  up 
with  my  breakfast,  all  gaily  coloured  with  a  picture 
of  a  little  sort  of  faun  carrying  a  basket  of  Easter 
eggs,  with  hoofs  to  him.  And  close  by  me  is  a  fat 
bunch  of  these  violets  picked  for  me  by  a  lady,  out 
of  her  own  garden.  I  saw  her  do  it,  in  exchange  for 
a  franc.  It  seems  a  rain  that  we  had  was  what  they 
needed,  for  the  whole  country  is  covered  with  them, 
wild;  but  these  of  mine  are  cultivees,  up  behind  the 
"  California"  .  .  . 

Yours, 

SUSAN. 
To  Miss  ELLEN  D.  HALE 

CANNES,  Monday,  April  1$,  1910. 
Sailing  two  weeks  from  to-day! 

Might  write  to  Manhattan,  New  York. 

Oh,  Nelly,  I  must  forsake  all  and  tell  you  these 
things.  No  matter  if  I  don't  write  the  right  letters 
to  everybody  (or  anybody)  ;  we  shall  get  there  all 
the  same. 

We  had  aviation  yesterday,  and  I  am  converted! f 
It  was  lovely.  Plage  (me  up-stairs  and  Mary  K.). 
These  are  swarms  of  people  looking  on.  It  soared 
so  beautifully  and  looked  exactly  like  a  bird,  and  not 
a  big  bird  either ;  any  old  bird,  —  and  took  ten  min- 
utes, I  believe,  to  go  way  across  our  horizon  and 
back  again.  So  we  may  come  home  in  one;  but  my 
transportation  is  all  engaged  (and  paid)  for  Early 
Victorian  methods.  .  .  . 

But  now,  Nelly,  to  change  the  subject,  I  want  you 
to  read  not  only  "  Merope  "  by  Matthew  Arnold,  but 
his  own  preface  to  it  in  his  latest  Complete  Edition 
Poems  which  I  got  from  London  lately.  I  'm  send- 


LAST   YEAKS 


465 


466        LETTEKS   OF   SUSAN"  HALE 

ing  it  to  Edward ;  and  do  you  make  him  let  you  have 
it.  It  is  all  in  the  line  of  that  Greek  man  we  were 
reading,  you  know,  in  Koxbury,  last  time  I  was 
there.  .  .  . 

And  Homestake  is  paying  again ! !  One  hundred 
and  four  dollars  on  March  25.  So  I  feel  rather  easy 
about  not  being  cast  into  prison  on  my  return,  by 
Kidder  and  Peabody.  .  .  .  Lots  of  love  from 

SUSAN. 

To  Miss  ELLEN  D.  HALE 

CANNES,  HOTEL  DE  LA  PLAGE,  encore 
vendredi,  April  8, 1910. 

DEAR  NELLY,  —  ...  My  mail  just  walked  in  with 
Minna  Goddard's  letter  to  say  they  will  arrive  here 
to-morrow  in  their  motor  with  Corinne,  the  maid, 
and  their  chauffeur,  to  spend  one  night  with  me.  .  .  . 

I  may  add  here  that  this  motor  business  has  de- 
stroyed all  the  punctual  habits,  Early  Victorian,  in- 
troduced by  steam-railways,  and  so  incidentally,  by 
my  own  father.  "  !N o  hanging  round :  but  start  now 
or  you'll  lose  your  train."  On  the  contrary,  these 
unfortunate  chauffeurs  sit  waiting  for  hours  at  the 
door  and  very  likely  in  a  pouring  rain,  until  their 
marms  come  strolling  out  with  a  dozen  more  hat- 
boxes, —  gigantic  in  size  (also  an  innovation);  I 
wish  you  could  see  the  things  they  stuffed  into  one 
yesterday,  —  a  baby,  a  nurse,  a  small  dog,  a  bassi- 
nette on  top  full  of  dirty  clothes;  a  man,  his  two 
wives,  their  hats  (in  boxes),  the  maid,  the  chauffeur, 
the  courier,  the  man's  own  cane,  everybody's  um- 
brella, a  green  parasol,  a  purple  ditto;  besides  their 
hand-baggage.  The  trunks  had  gone  before  (by  rail, 
I  presume).  .  .  . 

Yours, 
SUSAN. 


LAST   YEARS  46T 

To  Miss  CAROLINE  P.  ATKINSON 

AND 
Miss  MAEY  E.  WILLIAMS 

CANNES,  FRANCE,  April  14, 1910. 

Now,  my  dears,  the  bottom  is  out,  and  I  am  tearing 
up  letters  and  sich,  and  exploring  the  depths  of  my 
trunk  for  places  unknown  to  Mr.  Loeb.  We  are 
leaving  here  next  Monday  as  ever 
was,  and  doing  everything  by 
Fridays;  arrive  from  Marseilles 
Friday,  in  Naples  on  the  20th  and 
from  Naples  to  New  York  on  the 
29th.  Makes  me  nervous,  it's  so 
soon. 

It's  gone  like  a  flash!  though  a  lovely  tranquil 
winter.  I  suppose  there  never  was  an  old  lady  that 
did  so  few  things  as  I  have  done,  but  no  matter  for 
that.  I  took  a  young  gentleman  to  drive  the  other 
day.  He  is  a  dear.  I  should  like  to  annex  him ;  and 
he  would  like  to  be  my  kind  of  gentleman  courier,  so 
I  wish  I  could  have  him  instead  of  Mary.  .  .  .  He  is 
English,  named  Robinson,  and  is  the  organist  here 
in  Cannes  at  St.  George's  Church  (where  the  Duke  of 
Albany  is  buried),  and  he  took  me  in  there;  it's  a 
little,  very  perfect  (modern)  Gothic  chapel,  with 
stained-glass  windows,  and  holds  the  lovely  marble 
tomb  of  the  Duke,  peacefully  reposing,  with  crossed 
(very  beautiful)  hands.  Then  Robinson  opened  his 
organ  and  played  (no  doubt)  lovely  fugues  and 
things.  I  had  to  pretend  I  heard  them,  but  of  course 
it  was  to  my  ears  only  skurling.  His  father  is  a 
rector  in  Oxford,  and  two  brothers  are  curates.  Ain't 
it  just  like  an  English  novel  ?  His  voice  is  a  lovely 
baritone ;  he  is  adored  by  the  English  colony. 

I  've  got  an  old  gentleman  I  call  "  the  Cat-faced 


468         LETTEES    OF   SUSAN"   HALE 

man,"  for  you  see  I  can't  hear  any  of  their  names. 
He  says  my  French  is  beautiful;  and  there's  a 
widower  Mary  and  I  call  "  the  beautiful  man,"  with 
two  children  and  an  awfully  cross  mother.  Her  maid 
has  just  gone  away  because  she  can't  stand  it.  ... 
YOUE  JOYOUS  SUSAN. 

To  Miss  ELLEN  D.  HALE 

N.  G.  Lloyd  Prinz  Hieinrich.    7 : 30  A.  M. 
Thursday,  April  %1,  1910.     Cabin  1%6. 

Oh  my!  oh,  Nelly!  oh  reizend  schon,  only  Mary 
has  got  the  ink.  But  never  mind,  perhaps  you  can 
read  this  and  perhaps  I'll  mark  it  over  (guess  not). 

You  see  I  'm  once  more  on  the  rapturous  wave ; 
and  how  I  do  love  it!  I  feel  just  as  if  I  was  seven- 
teen and  had  nothing  the  matter  with  me,  except  that 
I  know  more  languages.  I  've  just  come  out  of  a 
luscious  cold  salt  Bad  in  a  great  tub,  and  stewardess 
has  brought  lovely  N.  G.  Lloyd  coffee  and  rolls.  I 
bet  there 's  no  one  else  up  yet  on  the  ship. 

But  you  must  know  we  Ve  had  a  funny  time ;  for 
the  wind  was  so  bellowing  (a  bise  or  something)  that 
ship  couldn't  start,  so  we  went  to  bed  tied  up  to  a 
great  warehouse  and  spent  the  night  at  Marseilles  in 
perfect  motionlessness.  But  at  dawn  just  now  I 
heard  and  felt  the  chug-chug  and  saw  rocks  out  of 
the  port-hole,  presumably  not  Monte  Christo's  island. 
Mary's  cabin  is  away  at  the  end  of  the  ship ;  she  is 
very  jolly,  we  feel  like  larks  to  be  in  our  old  haunts, 
and  Princess  will  be  still  more  so  next  week.  .  .  . 

YOUE  SUSAN. 


LAST   YEARS  469 

To  Miss  ELLEN  D.  HALE 

Dampfer  "  PRINZ  HEINRICH," 
24  hours  later,  Friday,  April  29,  11  A.  M. 
DEAR  NELLY,  —  And  here  we  are  still  wobbling  in 
Mediterranean  waters.  All  night  long,  the  dreary 
fog-horn  sounded,  and  at  6  A.  M.  was  nothing  to  be 
seen,  folded  in  with  the  same  fog.  Just  now  there 
is  a  visible  horizon,  but  we  were  still,  —  half  the 
night,  —  no  matter ;  one  place  is  as  good  as  another, 
and  I  must  say  that  Mary  K.  is  splendid;  she  takes 
everything  en  philosophe.  She  is  now  getting  rid  of 
her  French  coppers  for  post-cards  of  the  ship.  .  .  . 
Fog,  fog,  everywhere  and  we  may  be  another  night 
on  board ! 

YOTTR  SUSAN. 


To  Miss  MARY  B.  DINSMOOR 

GRAND  HOTEL,  NAPOLI,  1910. 
What  month  is  this?    Mebbe  April  22. 

DEAR  MARY,  —  Rapturous !  After  a  long  and  very 
wobbly  voyage,  my  head  still  swimmy-swimmy,  I  sit 
here  reading  a  fat  bunch  of  home  letters  waiting  for 
me,  and  yours  takes  the  cake.  Think  of  the  "kind 
seer  "  turning  up  again.  I  envy  you  being  chez  once 
more  even  if  you  are  debarred  from  your  bureau- 
drawers.  Well,  "  I  shall  soon  be  with  you,"  as  Har- 
riet Byron  said  when  she  thought  it  was  all  up  with 
Sir  Charles  on  account  of  Clementina,  I  shall  (knock 
wood)  be  soon  jumping  out  on  my  piazza  at  Matu- 
nuck,  say  May  15,  or  perhaps  13.  We  sail  from  here 
next  Friday,  29th,  Princesse  Irene,  you  know. 

My  dear,  this  voyage  was  fiendish ;  and  I  Ve  got 
the  taste  of  it  still  in  my  mouth.  We  left  Marseilles 
in  blithesome  mood,  —  that  was  Wednesday,  3  P.  M. 


470        LETTERS   OF   SUSAN  HALE 

—  with  an  angel  "  interpreter  "  we  know  there ;  saw 
the  trunks ;  saw  the  "  Angels  "  in  our  cabins.  Very 
well.  Everybody  left  us  (and  went  away)  tied  to  the 
wharf ;  and  there  we  stayed  till  dawn  the  next  morn- 
ing in  fog,  the  wind  was  so  fierce.  I  heard  the 
chunky-chunky  begin  of  the  engines,  in  bed  about 
sunrise,  so  all  that  day,  Thursday,  we  were  wobbling 
in  the  fog,  and  all  Friday,  until  six  p.  M.,  when  we 
were  rudely  thrust  out,  without  dinner  (which  no- 
body wanted)  to  the  cold  docks  of  Naples.  All  this 
time  there  was  nothing  under  heaven  to  do,  no  good 
places  to  sit,  a  great  upper  dreary  deck  with  nobody 
on  it  but  me  and  Mary  K.  and  only  one  steamer 
chair,  and  the  ramparts,  —  I  mean  bulwarks  —  so 
high  you  could  n't  see  anything  if  you  sate  down,  be- 
sides there  wasn't  anything  to  see,  only  fog.  Only 
fourteen  passengers  at  two  sparse,  round  tables  for 
luncheon,  only  two  ladies,  the  rest  in  bed.  I  sate  for 
the  most  part  in  the  corner  of  my  cabin,  to  the  detri- 
ment of  my  spine,  reading  an  Italian  novel,  to  get  up 
my  languages.  I  got  lost  once  going  up  to  see  Mary 
on  her  lonely  deck,  whence  all  but  her  Had  fled,  and 
was  only  extricated  by  instruments  from  the  bowels 
of  the  ship.  Well,  no  matter,  it 's  over  now,  only  I 
feel  like  a  dog.  We  rattled  in  an  old-fashioned  omni- 
bus (three  horses)  over  the  paving  stones,  for  miles 
and  miles  you  know  to  this  hostelry,  but  here  I  have 
a  charming  room  and  everybody  (although  all  dead) 
recognising  me.  That's  a  gift  of  hotel  men,  they 
carry  on  the  illusion  or  tradition.  I  generally  expect 
to  find  the  Charles  Longfellows  sitting  at  dinner. 
But  they  ain't  here  now  because  they  did  n't  come.  I 
don't  for  the  moment  want  to  see,  feel,  hear,  taste  nor 
smell  anything  till  I  get  over  this  wobble.  There, 
did  you  ever  hear  me  give  a  voyage  such  a  black  eye  ? 

Yours, 
SUSAN. 


LAST  YEARS  4tt 


To  Miss  ELLEN  D.  HALE 


YORK,  Friday,  May  13,  1910. 
NOW  NELLY  DEAR,  —  Don't  worry,  but  I  have  a 
paralysed  arm  since  that  storm  I  wrote  you  about,  my 
left  one,  so  it 's  not  so  very  bad,  and  Mary  is  an 
angel.  We  go  to  Matunuck  to-morrow,  and  Arthur 
and  Edward  are  both  here.  Will  write  from  there. 
I  am  not  sick  at  all,  only  helpless. 

YOUB  SUSAN. 

To  Miss  ELLEN  D.  HALE 

MATUNUCK,  May  15, 1910. 

OH  NELLY  !  —  It 's  rapturous,  everything  so  nicey- 
nicey,  Mary  K.  a  wonder.  I  got  here  by  "  uzle  train  " 
all  right,  and  Dr.  Gardiner's  horse,  I  mean  his  auto, 
was  browsing  on  the  lawn;  for  Arthur  had  warned 
him  in  a  telegram  that  my  wrist  was  paralyzed,  you 
know.  He  was  splendid  and  says  that  people  usually 
are  paralyzed  when  they  come  from  abroad,  and  such 
things.  I  am  not  wobbly  now  on  that  account,  but 
because  Mary  and  me  have  not  got  over  the  voyage 
yet.  So  don't  worry  about  me  because  I  am  so  happy 
to  be  here.  It  never  seemed  so  good  before.  Great 
robins  on  the  lawn,  and  dandelions  and  things  and 
May  perfect.  Everything  was  ready  for  us  and 
Mame  Tucker  still  on  the  ship  after  the  finishing 
touches  of  house-cleaning.  Lots  of  love  from  your 
happy  Susan. 

Arthur  and  Edward  were  angels.  Nobody  else 
here  yet. 


472         LETTERS    OF   SUSAN   HALE 

To  Miss  ELLEN  D.  HALE 

MATUNUCK,  RHODE  ISLAND,  June  %%  ? 
DEAR  NELLY,  —  For  once  it  is  warm  at  Matunuck, 
in  fact  broiling  at  7:30  A.M.  Breakfast  on  front 
piaz.  Everything  looks  lovely,  honeysuckle,  wild- 
roses  all  about.  Good  for  cripples  as  well  as  bipeds. 
My  parlour  is  full  of  flowers  everybody  sends,  for  it 
is  the  heyday  of  the  roses,  and  every  bowl  is  filled. 
These  are  Ma  Browning's  ramblers.  She  is  very 
proud  of  them.  ~No  news  and  we  may  have  a  N.  E. 
storm  before  night. 

YOUE  SUSAN. 

My  doctor  takes  good  care  of  me,  but  I  am  quite 
useless. 


INDEX 


A 

Bacon,  Mrs  211,  213 
Baier  Frau              ....      120 

Aaron   Mrs  416 

Balch   Nelly                              147 

Abbot,  Jerry    ....          75-76 

Baldwins                       .    .    .     201 

Adam,  Miss  .        13 

Balfour,  Mr  461 

Adamowski,  T  213 

Ball   Mrs                          .    .          1 

Agassiz  and  Gould  .    .        .     4-5 

"  Balloon-Post  "  64,  67,  68,  69,  70 
Baltimore                                   372 

Ajaccio     257,  258,  259,  260,  263 
Albert  Nyanza    42 

Bancroft,  Harriet    112,  205,  206 
Bangs,  Dr  256 

Alcott,  Louisa  M  293 
Alexandria    ....       22,  46,  57 
Algeciras                       ...      190 

Barbauld,  Mrs  447 
Barlow,  Mrs.  Francis  C.    .     214 

Algiers  302,  454 
Alhambra,    135,    140,    184,    190, 
215 
"  Alice  in  Wonderland  "     .       73 
Allen,  Freddy  223 
Allison  Senator           .    .    .     335 

Bayard,  Ellen  207 
Beaman,  .    .    .     277,  278 
Bell,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Graham     203 
Bell,  Helen  .    .    .     252,  355,  357 
"Bella-Donna"   458 
Belzoni                                  .        38 

Alma-Tadema      .    .    .     137,  191 
Altona  104,  109 
Amory   Charles               .    .       56 

"Benefactress"   ...        .397 
Beni-Hassan    ....        .        33 
Beni-Suef                               30,  32 

Amory,  William  .    .    .     144,  150 
Andalusia                             .      130 

Benson,  E.  F  434 

Anthony   Susan  B.         .    .     294 

Berdan'  Mrs                        .     233 

Antwerp               126 

BerlowHerr                    .    .      104 

Berry  Mrs  Van  Rensselaer    202 

Appleton   D   &  Co.        .    .     257 

Besh-bish                              .       37 

Appleton,   T.   G.,    63,   78,    141, 

Bethany                        .    .      55-56 

175 
Arnold,  Matthew    ....     464 
Arro  Hondo     344 

Bethlehem    51-57 
Biber,  Frau,  102,  104,  110,  121, 
123 

Asquith   Mr                              460 

Billingsgate  Market                   84 

Assuan   .    .     35,  42,  44,  401,  402 
Atkinson,  Annie      .    .   18,  19,  56 
Atkinson,  Caroline  P.,  286,  300, 

Bird,  Effie    254 
Bizerta  455 
Blake  Anna    268 

301    323    356,  373,  398,  399, 

Elaine  James  G          ...     208 

406,  421,  422,  423,  430,  439, 
442,  443,  444,  448,  451,  454, 
467 
Austen,  143 
Azores               454 

Blatchford,  Judge  and  Mrs.,  212, 
233 
Bliss,  Alexander  203 
Block  Island    .    .    421,  422,  451 
Blodgett  Nelly                   •     269 

"Bohemian  Girl"   ....     453 
Boldini                                  •     333 

B 

_ 

Bonaparte                                  263 

Bachi's                  1 

Boston,  1,  4,  138,  144,  196,  230, 

Back  Bay  Station  .    .     349,  427 

252,  351,  354,  356,  397,  463 

474 


INDEX 


Boston  Art  Museum  ...     453 

Boston  Fire 94,  105 

Boston  Opera  House  ...     453 

Boston  Theatre 453 

Boulak 29 

Bovell, .  .     392 

Bowbridge 388 

Bowditch,  Katharine  P.   299, 332 

Bowditch,  Ned 77 

Bowditch,  Vincent ....      256 
Bradford,  Fanny     ....          5 

Bradford,  Gam 5 

Bradley,  Mrs.  Peth    ...      227 
Braham,  Mrs.,  317, 318, 319, 320, 

321 

Brain  Club 75,  83 

Brewer,  Judge  and   Mrs.,    233, 

234 

Bright,  Dr 425 

British  Museum      ....        85 

Brook  Cherith 55 

Brookline.    .    .     15,  17,  108,  452 

Brooks,  Mrs 68 

Brown,  Jim 364 

Brown,  Mr 156,  157 

Brown,  Theo 371 

Browns    Town,    Jamaica,    377, 

381,  387,  408,  409,  413,  416 
Browning,  Joseph,  197,  227,  229 
Browning,  Mrs.  Joseph  378,  410 
Browning,  Robert,  274,  275,  300, 

336,  339,  350,  363,  378,  397, 

427  m 

Browning,  Mrs.  Robert     .     472 
Browning,  Thomas  W.,   274, 275, 

423 
Browning,  Willard  F.     423,  452 

Bruces 52,  53,  55 

Buffalo 341 

"Bug  Light" 346 

Burgess,  Gelett 434 

Burke,  Judge  and  Mrs.   394,  395 

Burnett, 207 

Burney's,  Miss,  "Cecilia"      453 

Burns 170,  171 

Bursley,  Annie  E.,    22,  25, 28,  46, 

78,  230,  265,  447, 
Bursley,  Caroline  W.      .    .     447 

Brussells 124 

Butcher,  Miss      .     184,  367,  368 
Butler,  Theodore,   173,  174,  176, 

224 
Byron,  Harriet 469 


Cabot,  Follen 14 

Cabot,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sam'l    343 


Cabots 434 

Cadiz 190 

Cairo 24,45,402 

California  .  .  .  266,  340,  432 
"Call  of  the  Wild"  ...  387 

Calzontzi 159,  160 

Cambridge 252 

Campeche 152,  154 

"Candida" 397 

Cannes,   315,  316,  423,  424,  455, 

456,  457,  460,  461,  462,  463, 

464,  466,  467 

Cano,  Alonzo 134 

Canonicut 335 

Capoul 72 

Card,  Alvin      ....     431,  439 

Carlyle 170 

Games,  Mrs 140 

Carpenter,  Geo.  O.  .  235,  240 
Carpenter,  Mrs.  Geo.  O.,  235, 

238,  239,  240,  241 

Castroville 345 

Caton,  Mrs 288 

Chamberlain,  Mary  ...  7,  8 
Chamberlain,  Will  ....  307 
Champlin,  Elisha,  227,  229,  246, 

283,  294,  448 

Chandler, 335 

Chaney,  Rev.  and  Mrs.  393,  421 

Channings 434 

Charles  River 442 

Charleston 330,  334 

Chase,  Charles    .    .    .69,  70,  71 

Chautauqua 346 

Cheney,  Ednah  D 72 

"Cherubina"  ....  240,  452 
Chicago,  71,  200,  271,  278,  279, 

287,  292,  431,  433,  434,  435, 

437 

Child,  Nat 77,  111 

"Children  of  the  Abbey"      213, 

214 

"Children  of  the  Mist"  .  363 
"Chippendales,  The"  .  .  401 
Chopin's  Funeral  March  .  456 
Church,  "  Downie,"  141, 157, 250, 

251 

Church,  E.  A.  .  435,  457,  459 
Church,  Frederick  E.,  128,  140, 

142,   143,   156,   157,  158,   163, 

164,  165,  181,  242,  250,  251 
Church,  Mrs.  Frederick  E.,  128, 

140,   141,   148,   150,   158,   165, 

250,  251 
Church,  Louis  P.,  141,  247,  248, 

249,  250,  251,  439,  456 
Church,  Mrs.  Louis  P.  .    .     372 
Church,  Winthrop  ....      116 


INDEX 


475 


Church  of  Holy  Sepulchre  47,  45 
City  of  Mexico    147 
Clark,  Abigail  W.   .    .     426,  428 
Clark,  Lionel   246 

Day   Susan,  254,  255,  258,  260, 
264,  334,  341 
De  Forest,  Mrs  277 
De  Morgan      458 
De  Reszke  Jean                  .     310 

327,  356,  377 
Cleopatra  37,  402 

Dead  Sea  "...    52,  53,  54,  57 
Delano,  Mrs.  F.  A.     .     434,  435 

Cleveland,  Grover  .    .     201,  207 
Cleveland,     Mrs.    Grover,    206, 
207,  214 
Clymer,  Miss  203 
Codman,  Mrs.  E.  A.     See  Bow- 

Denderah  ** 
Depew,  Chauncey  L.  .    .    .     445 
Dexter,  Mrs.  Gordon.    .    .      107 
Dexter,  Hannah      ....          6 
Dewey,  Almira    .    .    .    .  /74,  184 
Dickens                                 •     231 

Codman,  Stephen  ....     355 
Coke,  Mrs.  .    .    .     390,  392,  393 
Cole,  Judge      ....     408,  410 
Coleman,  14 
Colossi,  Great                              39 

Diman,  John   194 
Dinsmoor,  Mary  B.,  10,  74,  106, 
"     118,  363,  370,  383,  397,  462, 
469 
Dt  >bson,  Austin   231 

Constantino  456 
Conyngham,  Lord  and  Lady      56 
Cook  450   451 

Do/fcharies  '.    '.    !    '.    '.    "93,96 
Don  '  Mary  77 

Coolidge,  Mrs.  David    .    .      288 
Coope  Ind                                   44 

Doua  'ass,  Frederick    ...     201 
Dry-h  Tarbour  413 

Copelin,  Mrs  239,  240 
Copts    33 

Dudle>  %  Dr.     201,  279,  287,  292 
Dudley  ,  •  Mrs-  •    •.,•„•.•    •     2?J 

Cordova                                      131 

Dudley     Lord  Guildford    .       85 

Corsica     ....     257,  258,  260 
Cortes  152 
Court  House,  Ulster  Springs    411 
Coventry  Water  419 
Cowles,  Mrs  445 
Crosby,  Admiral  and  Mrs.      234 
Cummings,  Mrs  232 
Cunningham,  Edith    .    .    .      434 
Cunningham,  Mrs.  Edward       66 
Curtis,  Dan  61 
Curtis,  Isabella    .    .    .     225,  356 
Curtis,  Mary   356 

Duff-Got  don,  Lady    ...        41 
Duff-Gom  on-  Young  .    .    .        43 
Duncan  Tt  ™i,  Jamaica     .     412 
Dutton,  Tn.  'nscnpt     ...        71 
Dwight,  Dan     {- 
Dwight,  Mrs.     •    VD'T'    '      ivi 
Dyer,  Governt  r  of  «•  *•    .     * 

/V 
Eastburn,  Rev.   .V  •    •    •    •     05i 
Eddy,  Mrs.  .    .    .    -     '  *'    '       ?i 

Curtis,  Rafe     182 
Cushing,  Howard    ....     337 

Edfou    ......     "    '    '      066 
Edison                        '    '     '    '      212 

Curzon,  Mary  184 

D 

Da  Vinci  .                           ,      161 
Dahabieh  Aziz    .    .    .     401,  404 
Damascus    57 
Damon,  Ethel      .    .    .     367,  369 
Davis,  Bancroft  .    .    .     211,  233 
Davis,  Mrs.  Bancroft     .    .     233 
Davis,  Harriet     2 
Davis  J.                        69  72  78 

Ednrunds,  IVlary  •    •    -    ''233  234 

Eme:son'  Af  ^ 
Emeron,  R. 
171  ">fU 

Davis,  May  313 
Davis,  Rev.  Mr  56 
Davis,  Theodore.    .    .     403,  405 
Dawes,  Anna  ....     207,  234 
Dawes,  Mrs  207 
Dawes,  Senator  234 

ii/mmon  jyj-' 
Evarts,  Ufl 
"Evelina" 
Everett,  Ch 
Everett,  "E' 
Everett,  Edv 

476 


INDEX 


Everett,  Kitty 203 

Everett,  Liddy 2 

Everett,  Lucy 2 

Everett,  Marianne ....  2 

Everett,  Mrs.  Percival  L.  265 

Everett,  William,   18,  335,  461, 
462,      3 

F 

Fairbanks,  Vice-President  445 
Fairchild,  Mrs.  Secretary,  206, 

208 

Fairchild,  Secretary  ...  214 
Falder,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  .  .  420 
Falmouth,  Jamaica,  377,  412, 

413 

"Family  Flight"  ....  147 
"Female  Quixote".  ...  204 

Fenelosas 252 

Fessenden,  Mr 94 

Fetti 12 

Field,  Marshall 292 

Field,  Judge  and  Mrs.  .  .  233 
Fields  and  Osgood  ....  69 
Finkenstein,  Am.  V.  Consul,  47, 

49 

Fiske,  John 240 

Forbes 434 

Forbes,  Margaret  and  Fanny     66 

Folsom,  Mrs 206 

Forest,  Mr 27 

Florence,  Italy    .    .    .     222,  223 

Francis,  Dr.  T.  E 17 

Francis,  G.  Tappan  ...  357 
Franklin,  "Old"  196,227,229, 

242,  246,  284,  301 
Franklin,  Cornelia,  167, 168,  242, 

243,  244,  281,  282,  283,  298, 
299,  364 

Franklin,  Sir  John  ...  191 

"Free  Soil"  party  ...  2 

French  Fair 61 

Frontera 152 

Frothingham,  Anne  .  .  1,  2 
Frothingham,  Ellen  .  .  1,  2,  77 

Frothingham,  Edward   .  2 

Frothingham,  O.  B.    .    .  73 

Frothingham,  "Ma"  .    .    .  ,2 

Frothingham,  "Pa"   .    .    .  2 

Frothingham,  Tom     ...  2 

Fuller,  Justice  and  Mrs.    .  233 

Fullum,  2,  19,  35,  49,  214,  309, 
461 

G 

Gandara 333 

Garden  of  Gethsemane .  .  55 
Gardiner,  Dr.  H.  K.  .  471,  472 

J 


Garfield,  Mrs 444 

Gaucin 187,  188 

Germany 102,  119 

Gibraltar,  181, 182,  184,  185,  186 

Oilman,  Leila 203 

Oilman,  Francis,     298,  301,  329, 

361,  364 

Gillette,  William  ....  361 
Gitana,  Yacht  .  215,  217,  222 

Gladstone 417 

Glessner,   Mrs.,     200,  201,  287, 

290,  292 

Glover,  P.  S 432 

Gobantes 189,  190 

Goddard,  Dr 215 

Goddard,  Minna  ....  466 
Goddard,  M.  L.  .  .  .  316,  402 
Goddard,  Mr.  ...  252-329 
Godwin,  Nora,  277,  305,  306, 

307,  313,  314,  323,  334 

Godwin,  Parke 285 

Goethals,  Mrs.  George  W.      446 

Goethe 171 

Goodchild,  Jerry     ....     337 

Goodchild,  Mrs 281 

Gordon,  Mr 367 

Gordon,  Professor  ....  5 
Grand  Duke  Michael  455,  456 
"Grandison,  Sir  Charles,"  201, 

205,  267,  336,  469 

Grant,  Deacon 6 

Granada  .  .  134, 136,  184,  190 
Gray,  Charles  Bartlett  363,  430 
Gray,  Gerald  ....  274,  275 

Gray,  Geraldine 302 

Gray,  Judge     ....       65,  233 

Gray,  Louise 302 

Green  Grocers 83 

Greene,    Mrs.    Anna,     179,  180, 

181,  322,  323,  383 
Grey,  Judge  Horace  ...     211 

Grey,  Bessie 211 

Grisi 453 

Gross,  Mrs 153 

Guadalquivir 132 

Guild,  Harriet 358 

Guild,  Lizzie 16 

Gulf  of  Mexico    .  .     438 


Hale,  Alexander  .  .  1,  2,  3,  4 
Hale,  Arthur  331,  334,  372,  471 
Hale,  Charles,  15,  22,  61,  67,  70, 

80,  102 

Hale,  Edward  Everett,  11,  47, 
128,  170,  171,  191,  193,  194, 
201,  243,  244,  247,  248,  249, 


INDEX 


477 


301,  314,  334,  335,  346,  347, 
348,  355,  357,  370,  384,  406, 
424,  426,  428,  442,  444,  445, 
462,  463 

Hale,  Mrs.  Edward  Everett  444 
Hale,  Edward  Everett,  Jr.,    194, 
195,  230,  242,  249,  266,  293, 
301,  466,  471 

Hale,  Mrs.  E.  E.,  Jr.  See  Per- 
kins, Rose 

Hale,  Ellen  Day,  128,  144,  170, 
352,  362,  365,  380,  385,  396, 
399,  408,  414,  426,  427,  428, 
444,  445,  449,  452,  454,  455, 
460,  461,  463,  464,  466,  468, 
469,  470,  472 

Hale,  Eugene 203 

Hale  family 34-58 

Hale,  Herbert  D.  .  .  .  192-194 
Hale,  Lucretia  P.,  2,  5,  7,  13, 
14,  16,  22,  25,  71,  72,  73,  78, 
79,  82,  88,  94,  97,  102,  110, 
124,  128,  133,  136,  140,  141, 
143,  145,  147,  151,  152,  155, 
167,  171,  179,  180,  182,  184, 
192,  194,  196,  199,  200,  202, 
203,  206,  209,  215,  217,  222, 
226,  229,  232,  234,  235,  238, 
243,  248,  249,  250,  252,  253, 
258,  262,  268,  269,  274,  276, 
278,  279,  281,  283,  287,  292, 
293,  296,  298,  302,  303,  307, 
312,  329,  336,  338,  339,  343, 
462 

Hale,  Nathan 6,  45 

Hale,  Mrs.  Nathan     ...        12 
Hale,   Philip  L.,    167,  170,  171, 
172,  173,  174,   176,   180,   181, 
224,  247,  249,  283,  284,  286, 
301,  336,  355,  453 
Hale,  Robert  Beverly,    192,  194, 
229,  230,  247,  248,  249,  250, 
266,  286,  287,  300 

Hale,  Sarah 2 

"Half  Sheet  Club"     ...     364 

Hall,  Mary 8,  183 

Hall,  Mrs.  S.  C 87 

Halley's  Comet 455 

Hamlin,  Mrs 129,  130 

Hanbury,  Sir  John  ....      185 

Hardy,  Thomas 451 

Harkmudt,  Frau     ....      114 

Harlan,  Judge 233 

Harmony,  Mrs.  Commodore  207 

Harper's 144 

Harper,  President  ....  287 
Harrison,  Alexander  ...  249 
Harrison,  Birge 344 


Hart,  William  Howard  .    .     302 

Harte,  Bret 69,  195 

Hartog 223,  225 

Hassan,     26,  28,  30,  34,  35,  36, 

38,  39,  42,  49,  55 

Hathaway 256 

Hawes,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  .  .  343 
Hawley,  Governor  ....  335 

Hay,  John 212 

Haynes,  George 333 

Hazard's  place 342 

Head,  Annie 18 

Hebron 51,  57,  58 

Hedge,   Charlotte  A.,   265,429, 

440,  446,  450,  451 
Hedge,  Rev.  Frederick  H.,     15, 

16,  17,  73,  74,  78,  100,  101 

Hemenway,  Mrs 240 

Henn,  Lieutenant  .    .     191,  306 

"Henrietta" 396 

Henry,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,    367,  368, 

369 

Herf,  Mrs 239 

Herring  Salad  .  .  .  116,  117 
Herst  ...  90,  91,  96,  100,  101 
"Heth,  A  daughter  of".  .  112 

Hettstedt,  Frau 110 

Hichens 458 

Higginsons 434 

Higginson  concert  ....  310 
Higginson,  T.  Wentworth.  363 
Highland  St.,  No.  39  .  443,462 
Hill,  J.  Donald,  Mr.  and 

Mrs.,  416,  417,  418,  419,  421 

Hoar,  Mrs 207,  208 

Hoar,  Ruth  ....  232,  233 
Hoar,  Senator  .  208,  233,  334 
Hobart,  Vice-President  .  335 
Hobson,  Mrs.,  203,  209,  210,  211, 

212 
Hoffman,  Colonel   ....       95 

Holmes,  John 96 

Holmes,  Judge 445 

Romans 93,  95 

Homans,  Dr.  John  ....  75 
Homans,  "Johnny"  ...  71 
Homans,  Mrs.  Charles  D.,  75, 

357 
Homestake  Minea    428,  435,  466 

Hood,  Tom 449 

Hooper,  Clover 78 

Hooper,  Edward 20 

Hooper  girls 403 

Hooper,  Dr.  Sturgis   ...      180 

Horas 37,  402,  403 

Horseless  carriage  .  .  329,  333 
Houghton  and  Mifflin  .  .  459 
Howe,  Billy 27 


478 


INDEX 


Howe,  Julia  Ward  64,  71,  72,  75 

Howe,  Murray 20 

Howells,  William  Dean,  61,  137 
Howells.  Mrs.  Wm.  Dean,     61, 

137     ' 

Howland,  Judge  .    277,  278,  334 
Hudson,  New  York    .     140,  452 

Hugo,  Victor 171 

Huneker's  "Egoists".    .    .     451 

Hurlbut,  Mary 310 

Hummel,  Professor  100,  113,  114 

Hummel,  Frau 110 

Hunt,  William  D.,  63,  64,  65,  66, 

67 
Hunt,  Mrs.  Wm.  D.,  63,  64,  65, 

66,  67,  68 


Iowa  City 293 

Ipswich,  Jamaica    .    .     416,  420 

Ironside,  Mrs 212 

Irving,  Henry      .    .    .     138,  285 
Irwin,  Agnes 358 


Jackson,  Edward    ....     357 

Jaffa 57 

Jamaica,  373,  376,  377,  381,  383, 

384,  393,  414,  415,  444 
James,  Harriet.     See    Bancroft, 

Harriet 

James,  Henry 359 

Jepson,  Alice 144 

Jericho 54,  57 

Jerusalem,  48,  49,  50,  51,  52,  55, 

56 

Johannesburg 360 

Johnson,  J.  Aug 83 

Johnson,  Sam  ....     140,  332 

Johnston,  James 287 

Johnston,  John    .     181,  185,  190 
Johnston,  Fanny,    181,  182,  184, 

185,  186 

Jordan  River  .    .    48,  53,  54,  57 
Judas    .  ,      148 


Karnak 39,  40,  403 

Keating,  Mary,  428,  438,  439, 
440,  445,  448,  449,  452,  454, 
456,  459,  460,  462,  467,  468, 
469,  470,  471 

Keene 9,  108 

Keith's  Theatre 332 

Keneh 37 


Kendall,  Jamaica  ....  389 
Kenyon,  Welcome  ....  243 
Kidder  and  Peabody  .  .  466 
Kingston,  Jamaica  .  384,  421 
Kingston,  Rhode  Island  .  452 

Kirkland,  Miss 359 

Kirsch,  Madame     .    .     302,  305 

Kruger 360 

Kumpf 330 

Kuhn,  Grace 205 


La  Farge 190 

Lackland,  Mrs 239 

Lamar,  Senator  and  Mrs.  .  233 
Lambert,  ,  316,  317,  318, 

319,  330,  321 

Lang,  Andrew 331 

Langley,  Professor  .  203,  212 
Lansing,  Reverend ....  50 
"Last  of  the  Peter  kins"  .  459 
Laughlin,  Professor  .  292,  293 

Lausanne 424 

Lawrence,  Arthur,  27,  49,  50,  51, 

52,  53,  55 

Lawrence,  Mrs 379 

Learned,  Mr.  and  Mrs.      .     238 

Lee,  Elliott  C 215 

Leghorn 222 

Leiter,  Miss 200 

Leiter,  Mrs 234 

Leland,  Dr 432 

Lend-a-Hand 171 

Leonard,  Dr.  and  Mrs.  .  .  212 
Lennox,  Charlotte  ....  396 
Lesley,  Peter,  25,  28,  29,  30,  37, 

39,45 
Lesley,  Susan,  25,  28,  29,  38,  40, 

55 

Lind,  Jenny 453 

Linzee,  Anita,  216,218,219,223, 

224,  225 
Little  and  Brown    ....     459 

Lloyd  George 460 

Lockhart,  Mrs 191 

Lodge,  Henry  Cabot,    203,  214, 

335,  445 
Lodge,  Mrs.  Henry  Cabot      234 

Lodge,  Mary 88 

Loeb,  Mr 467 

London 137,  253 

London  Daily  Telegraph  460,461 

Longfellow 171,  294 

Longfellow,    Charles,    316,  317, 

470 
Longfellow,  Ernest,  146, 314, 316, 

403,  405 


INDEX 


479 


Longfellow,    Mrs.    Ernest,    314, 

315,  403,  405 

Loring,  Anna 8 

Loring,  Charles  ...  68,  252 
Loring,  Mrs.  Charles  252,  358 
Loring,  G.  B.,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  208 
Loring,  Marquis  de  Casa  .  134 
Loring,  Sallie  ....  203,  208 
Loring,  Seraphina  ....  134 
Loring,  Susie  ....  206,  213 

Lothrop,  Dr 334,  384 

Lothrop,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  S.  K.    87 

Louis  Napoleon 68 

"Loving    Ballad    of    Lord 

Bateman," 75 

Lowell,    James   Russell,    88,  89, 

93,  94,  96,  129,  252 
Lowell,  Mrs.  Jas.  Russell,  88,  89, 

96 

Lowell,  Mrs.  John  ....  Ill 
Lowell,  Mamie  ....  18,  20 
Lowell,  Olivia  ....  18,  20 

Lowndes, 214 

Lucca    .......     307,  309 

Lucea,  Jamaica 393 

Lucrezia  Borgia 453 

"Lunatic  at  Large"   ...     359 

Luxor 40,  402 

Lyman,  Mrs.  Theodore .  .  13 
Lymans 434 

M 

Macaulay's  Essays.  .  .  .  417 
Mackfield,  Jamaica  .  394,  395 
Mackinney,  "Larry".  .  .  448 

Madeira 365 

Madrazo  .........     333 

Madrid .     129,  130 

Maeterlinck 364 

Maggi,  Signora  Caterina  308 
Maggi,  Francesco  ....  307 
"Magic  Casement"  .  447,449 

Malaga 132,  134,  217 

Mali,  Fanny    ......     334 

Manchester,  Jamaica .    .    .      388 
Mandeville,  Jamaica  ...     392 
Manhattan  Hotel,  372,  406,  439, 
452 

Mariette  Bey 41 

Mario 72,  453 

Marquand,  Greta  ....  192 
Marquand,  Mary  ....  128 

Marsaba 47,  52 

Marseilles  .  .  .  130,  467,  469 
Mary,  Queen  of  Scots  .  .  84 
Mason,  Lawrence  ....  27 
Matlack,  Charles  ....  198 


Matlack,  Mrs.  Charles  .    .     416 

Matlacks 448 

Matunuck,  128,  149,  151,  167, 
170,  171,  191,  194,  196,  199, 
226,  229,  242,  243,  246,  248, 
265,  274,  281,  283,  286,  295, 
296,  297,  298,  299,  300,  301, 
327,  336,  339,  349,  350,  360, 
361,  362,  363,  365,  369,  370, 
385,  396,  397,  399,  400,  401, 
421,  422,  426,  429,  433,  439, 
446,  449,  450,  451,  452,  471, 
472 

Maximilian 172,  174 

McElroy, .     192,  193,  194 

McGuire,  Mrs.  .  .  .  204,  213 
Mediterranean  Sea.  .  459,  469 
"  Meistersingers"  ....  99 
Mendineh  Haboo  ....  39 
Mercer,  Billy,  216,  218,  220,  222, 

229 
Meredith,  George    231,  340,  451 

Mermod,  Dr 424 

"Merope" 464 

Mexico 128,  144 

Mile  Gully 389,  390 

Miller,  Dr 377,  408 

Miller,  Judge  and  Mrs.      .      233 

Millet,  Frank 138 

Minyeh 29,  33 

Mississippi 437 

Montego  Bay,  Jamaica,  408,  414, 
416 

Monterey 343 

Morelia 156 

Morrell,  Senator  and  Mrs.  233 
Morse,  Prof.  Edward  S.  .  252 
Morton,  Vice-President .  .  233 
Morton,  Mrs.  Vice-Pres.,  212, 

233 

Moses,  Ann,  409,  410,  411,  413, 
419,  420 

Motley,  Minna 30 

Moulton,  May 369 

Mount  of  Olives  ...  55,  56 
Mountains  of  Moab  ...  53 

Murillo 129,  141 

Mustafa  Aga 37,  40 

Myers,  Rev.  F.  B 374 

' '  Mysteries  of  Udolpho ' '         452 

N 

Naples  .  .    312,  467,  470 

Nazareth 57 

Nervi    .  ....     303 

Newberry,  Mrs 445 

Newport 150,  285 


480 


INDEX 


New  Orleans    .    .    343,  444,  446 
New  York,    196,  209,  329,  360, 

439,  452,  467,  471 
New  York  Sun    .    .    .     461,  462 

Nice 226,  456 

Nile  ...   28,  34,  402,  404,  458 

Nilsson 72 

Nordhoffs 268 

"Norma" 453 

North  Pole 450,  451 

Noyes,  Alfred      .    .    .     447,449 


Oak  of  Abraham     ....  51 

Olana,    140,  141,  143,  248,  250, 
372,  439,  453 

Olivers 342 

Olmsted,  Mrs.  Fred'k  L.  .  396 

Orange  Hill,  Jamaica.    .    .  415 
"Ordeal of MarcusOrdeyne"  434 

Otis,  Mrs 9 


Pablo  Plata,  Sefior,  157, 159, 160, 
161,  162 

Pacht 37 

Palermo 262 

Palm  Sunday 47 

Palmer,  Alice  Freeman,  288, 289, 

291,  292,  293 

Palmer,  Mrs.  Potter  ...  200 
Palmer,  Prof.  George  H.  .  292 

Panama  Canal 425 

Pancho  Arriaga 163 

Paris,  88,  177,  180,  226,  322, 402 
Park  Street  corner  ....  119 
Parkman,  Francis  ...  29,  35 

Pass  Christian 437 

Patzcuaro     .    .    .     155,  156,  157 

Peabody,  Frank 6 

Peabody,  "Ma" 15 

Peabody,  Oliver  ...  6,  261 
Peabody,  William  ....  6 

Peary 451 

Pellew, 212 

Perabo 458 

Perier  Freres    ....     178,  181 

Perkins,  Alice 246 

Perkins,  Mrs.  Evelyn,    403,  405, 

447 

Perkins,  Mrs.  Jas.  H.,  Biog- 
raphy of  434 

Perkins,  Roger 448 

Perkins,  Rose      .    .    .     246,  448 

Perry,  Walter 281 

Persia   .  .     242 


Peter  andTauPs  church 

Peterkins 

Pharaoh 


Phelps,  Wm 


Philadelphia 
Philae  .  . 
Philpots  . 
Pickerings 
Piper,  Dr. 
Pisa  .  .  . 
Pitman,  Minot 


Walter 


.  456 
.  384 
.  402 
.  212 
.  445 
.  .  43,  402 
.  .  .  .  451 
.  .  389,  390 
400,  430,  433 
222 
249 


"Plea   of   the    Midsummer 

Fairies" 449 

Point  Judith 151 

Poor,  William 277 

Port  Antonio,  Jamaica    373,  380 
Port  Maria,  Jamaica       392,  393 

Potter,  Jeffrey 227 

Pratt,  Ellerton 357 

Pratt,  Mrs.  Ellerton        355,  357 

Preble, 403 

Preston,  Agnes 445 

Providence 196 

Ptolemies 37 

Putnam,  Dr 16 

Putnam,  Georgina  ....        64 

Putnam,  Miss 252 

Putnam,  Mrs.  Sam     ...       64 
Pyramids 45,  46 


Quincy,  Mary  Edmund .    .      180 
Quornah,  Temple  of  ...        38 

R 

Rachel 9,  89,  453 

Rachel's  Tomb 50 

Ramses     ...      37,  38,  42,  403 

Rand,  Daisy 342 

Reade,  Charles 68 

Redmond,  Mr 461 

Reece,  Judge 377 

Reece,  Miss 392 

Reed,  Mr 128 

Repplier,  Agnes 238 

Richardson,  Dr.  Benjamin 

Waed 256 

"  Richardson,  Samuel,  Cor- 
respondence of  "      .    .    .     447 
Rice,  Harry     ....     247,  248 

Riha 54 

Ritchie,  Mrs 93 

Rochester 346 

Rodgers,  Admiral    ....     210 

Rodman,  Erne 446 

Rodman,  Emma     .    .       32,  355 


INDEX 


481 


Rodmans     26,  27,  30,  44,  86,  87 

Rogers  Brothers      .    . 

351 

Rogers  family 

287 

Rogers,  Lily 

414 

Rogers,  Mr. 

358 

Rome    .    .    . 

222 

Ronda  .    .    . 

.     188,  190 

Rousseau 

...      170 

Roxbury  .    . 

.     334,  442 

Ruthven 

fifi 

Rye  .                                          12 

Salvator  Rosa 141 

San  Francisco,  266,  267,  268, 
434 

San  Ysidro 340 

Sanborn,  Frank  .    .    .     290,  291 

Sands,  Mrs 233 

Santa  Barbara,  266,  267,  342, 
343 

Sargent,  Mr 153 

Sayles,  Henry 357 

Schiller 170 

Schmit,  Herr 114 

Scott,  Miss 410 

Scudder,  Mr 141 

Sea  of  Galilee 57 

Sebastian,  Albert,   197,  229,  246, 

275,  386 

Sebastian,  Louisa,  226,  227,  229, 
275,  276,  282,  296,  300,  301, 
350,  370,  386,  387,  399,  400, 
422,  423,  426,  427 

Seville 128 

Sharp,  Miss     .    .     152,  153,  154 

Shaw,  Bernard 397 

Shellah 402 

Shippen,  Rev.  Rush  .     204,  205 

Shurtleff,  Dr 78 

"Siegfried" 214 

Sierra  Nevada 136 

Silsilis 42 

"Singular  Miss  Smith".    .     397 

Siut 34,  35,  43 

Smith,  Alice 264 

Smith,    Mr.  and   Mrs.  Jo- 
seph Linden 403 

Smith,  Mary  W 440 

Smith,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  N.  W.,  426, 

430,  440,  443,  448,  453 
Smith,  Mrs.  N.  W.      See    Ellen 
H.  Weeden 

Smith,  Nat 440 

Smith,  Mrs. ....     264 

Smith,  Sibley  C 448 

Smythe,  Mrs 408 


Solomon's  Pools 49 

Spain  ....  180,  181,  182 
Spanish  Town,  Jamaica  .  383 
St.  Elizabeths,  Jamaica.  .  420 
St.  Louis  ....  235,  238,  239 

St.  Paul 269,  270 

St.  Petersburg 456 

Staigg,  Mrs.  R.  M.     See  Annie 

Atkinson 

Stanley,  Dean 55 

Steedman,  Adm.  and  Mrs.  211 
Stevens,  B.  F.,  83,  84,  86,  87, 

125,  137,  255,  256,  257,  313, 

324,  326 

Stevenson,  Robert  Louis  .  231 
Stewart  Town,  Jamaica  .  408 

Stone,  Mrs. .    .     204,  214 

Story,  Mrs.  Judge  ....          3 

Stoughton,  Kate 211 

Subway 328 

Sullivan  T.  Russell,  224, 311, 355, 

403 

Sumner,  Charles  ...  3, 328 
Surbiton  ....  136,  323,  324 
"  Susan's  Roost "  .  .  387,414 
"Sybarite,"  The  .  .  193,  230 


Tabasco  River 152 

Tangier 190,  191 

Tarvil,   26,  29,  30,  32,  33,  35,  41 

Taylor,  Mrs. ....     204 

Taylor,  Zachary      ....          3 

Tecalote 344 

Teft,  Mrs 298 

Tel-el-amana 28 

Tennyson  .  .  .  171,  191,  231 
Terry,  Ellen  ....  138,  285 

Thackeray 34 

Thayer,  Mrs.  Nathaniel  .  202 
Theatre  Francais  .  .  .  89,  95 
Thebes  ....  37,39,40,41 
Thomas,  Theodore  .  292,  435 

Thormoses 37 

Thorndike  Hotel,   329,  332,  333, 
383,  431 

Thoron,  Ward 214 

Tibbetts,  John 355 

Ticknor,  Mrs 384 

Tilden,  Linzee  .  .  .  254,  255 
Tillman,  Senator  ....  445 
Tod,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  .  .  278 
Toledo  Cathedral  ...  463 
Tombs  of  the  Kings  .  .  38 

"Touchstone,"  The  .  .  359 
Touraine  Hotel  ....  327 
Townsend,  Mrs 367 


482 


IXDEX 


Transcript,  Boston  Evening,   68, 
71,  135,  429 

Travers,  Susan 334 

Trelawney,  Jamaica  .     416,  420 
"Tristam  Lacy"     ....     351 

"Trovatore" 453 

Troy,  Jamaica 419 

Tucker, 26 

Tucker,  Abby      .    .    .     299,  336 
Tucker,  Mamie  .    .    .     428,  471 
Tuckerman,  Emily,  203, 205, 206 
"Turn  of  the  leaf  in  Au- 
tumn"   443 

Turnbull,  Miss 211 

Tzintzuntzan  ....     159,  160 


Ulster  Springs,  Jamaica,  408, 409, 
411,  419,  420 

Uncle  Tom  Lee 98 

Union  Club      ....     333,  356 

Uruapan 162 

Utica     .  .     346 


Van  Buren,  Martin  ...  3 
Van  Lennep  .  28,  30,  33,  36,  37 

Vanete,  Senor 154 

Velasquez 129 

Vera  Cruz    .    144,  145,  153,  155 

Vincent,  Bishop 348 

Vocal  Statue 39 

Voltaire 170,  171 

Von  Gersdorff 105 

Von  Gross,  Frau,    102,  103,  104, 
105,  110 

W 

Wales,  Mary  Ann  ....  1,2 
Walker,  Admiral  ....  202 
Walker,  Dr.  Mary  ....  207 

Wanamaker 235 

Ward,  Artemus 36 

Ward,  Samuel 214 

Warder, .    .     209,  210,  212 

Ware,  William  Robert,  183,  278, 

334 
Warner,    Charles   Dudley,     128, 

137,   156,   157,   158,   159,  161, 

162,  163,  165 
Warner,  Mrs.  Chas.  Dudley,  138, 

250,  251,  372 

Warren Ill 

Washington,    202,  203,  206,  232, 

234,  334,  335,  444,  445 


Waumbek 14 

Weather  Man 445 

Weeden,    Ellen    II.,     246,    340, 

365,  386,  400,  415,  418,  426, 

422 
Weeden,    James    V.,     228,  247, 

378 
Weeden,  Leila,  228, 230, 247,  250, 

251 

Weeden,  Mary  Bailey  .  .  246 
Weeden,  Raymer  B.  .  228,  247 
Weeden,  Wm.  B.,  364,  377,  386, 

398,  400,  401,  416,  421,  427, 

431,  441 
Weeden,  Mrs.  Wm.  B.,  376,  378, 

386,  441,  443,  452 

Weeden,  Wm.  W 246 

Weedens,  196, 197,  227, 228,  246, 

386,  447,  448 

Weesa,  "Brother"  ...  35 
Weimar,  99,  100,  102,  106,  107, 

108,  110,  118 
Weld,  William  F.,  216,  220,  222, 

223,  224,  225 
Weld,  Mrs.  William  F.,  216,  218, 

219,  220,  222,  223,  225 
Weld,    Mrs.    William    G.,    138, 

149,   170,   191,  196,  215,  224, 

248,  265,  266,  283,  285,  295, 

315,  316,  322,  324,  327,  328, 

330,  334,  339,  346,  349,  350, 

351,  356,  358,  360,  361,  369, 

372,  387,  400,  401,  424,  426, 

429,  430,  431,  433,  437 

Wells,  Charles  B 286 

Wells,  Mrs.  Charles  B.,  286,  351, 

422 

West  Roxbury 37 

Westminster  Abbey    ...       83 

Wharton,  Edith 359 

Wheeler,  Ellen 7 

White  House 206 

White  Mountains  .  .  134,  135 
Whitehouse,  Remson ...  403 
Whitman,  Mrs.  Henry  .  .  252 
Whitney,  Mrs.  Secretary  213 
Whitwell,  Horatio  ...  93,  95 
Whitwell,  Sophia  ...  93,  95 
Wight,  Reverend  Mr.  .  .  51 

Wild,  H 75,  77 

Willard,  Frances 445 

Williams,  Gwadys  ....  286 
Williams,  Hugh  .  .  .  248,  249 
Williams,  Mary  E.,  286,  323, 

381,  404,  406,  444,  467 
Williams,  Moses,        19,  248,  447 
Williams,  Mrs.  Moses     248,  391 
Wilson,  Belle 201 


INDEX 


483 


Wilson,  Charlotte  .    .    . 
"Wings  of  the  Morning" 
Winn,  Mrs  
Winthrop,  Mr  

9 

397 
.     291 
3 

Wood,  Mrs  
Worden's  Pond  

211 

492 

Winthrop,  R.  C  
Wise,  Charlotte  .... 
Wister,  Mrs.    . 

.     311 

.     211 
.     367 

_ 

Young,  the  Librarian  .  . 
Young's  "Night  Thoughts' 

335 
451 

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